Contradictions Of Benediction

Do not mistake me, for I am not Atlas,

No beast of burden, or nameless mule,

By the sharp edge of my cutlass,

Bow down to my rule,

 

I will pierce you with my pen,

The ink runs red like blood,

As you whisper once again,

Your heart becomes a flood,

 

Pulled by the tides of my pages,

You cannot deny,

In the terror and the rages,

The denizens of sky,

 

Dancing on the sweet blooms,

Of a poet’s lonely garden,

Threatening epiphany looms,

As all the softness hardens,

 

A scepter and the chalice,

An angel and the rose,

With gently spoken malice,

The river quietly flows,

 

Come to me in silence,

With kisses in your mouth,

Or come to me in violence,

So your rules I can flout,

 

Meet me in the middle,

Of riddles wrapped in rhyme,

And with that blade please whittle,

My slowly passing time,

 

Hear what I leave unspoken,

In the pattern of my words,

And let the spell be broken,

As we sing a parting dirge.

 

 

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2 thoughts on “Contradictions Of Benediction

  1. anon

    Wherefore have you found the wisdom to speak such things?
    In which place did you find the wherewithall to entertain our instructions?
    Or must we simply be entertained and nothing more, as with most others in these times?

    Like

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