A Phantom with Crimson Stained Lips – Day 207

A Phantom with Crimson Stained Lips

A corpse
Decaying in the sombering wind.
The ashes of forgotten moments
Incite tears from amber skies.
Crimson dripped from pale maroon lips.
It smelt of violet passion.
Eyes glazed in violent satisfaction
Jumping upon lumbering prey.
Crack, and thunder bellows strong.
Quick lightning whispers crisscrossing
Along the immeasurable darkness.
Amber flees the northern skies,
And the stragglers are enveloped
By tumultuous squalls.
The form leans over her prey,
And dagger eyes pierce the veil.
A bloody fevered squeal emitted
From the soon devoured soul.
The phantom with crimson stained
Lips knelt low against her supper.
Feline like eyes, unrelenting copper,
Cold. Her black mane a tempest
Reaching from her skull,
Catching cerulean scintillations.
Demitting her maw to stiffened meat,
Muttering swears against prey’s innocence.

“I am but a fury of God’s flesh,
No more am I a sinner than an adulteress.
Your God, says James’ holy book,
Made all equal and in his image.
So silence you imperceptible fool.
Redemption is not found in wicked souls
Who cry, “I am saved.” aloud to priests.
It is found in those who live in strong tenants.
So in this I will cleanse my hollow flesh.”


An image of perfection
Permeates the thin boundary
Created by imagination
Deep within the bowels of
Inner concentration.

Are you sorry for falling quick
And dropping to your knees?
Are you sorry for breaking down
And opening up wounds in skin?
This is life, you’ve got to live.

A phantom focus of pure energy
Cloaked in debris of prehistory
Before the great firewall
And long before democracy failed
To keep watch of its own soil.

Are you afraid of walking blindly
Into the shadow of unknown tomorrows?
Are you weeping because you know,
You’ve bought the lies Washington’s sold?
Is this really freedom we have known?

Answer me in soft thoughts
Decrepit until you close your eyes
And flee the fleeting impressions
Of perfect undeniable thought.
what if we have become the virus
That George Orwell fought?

Are we so power hungry
that we would erase the past.
Is it impossible to believe
That the reason we don’t look back
Is because humanity is wrong?

Our mistakes can be rectified
The warnings are left in obvious places
In the acts of those before us.
History is the study of human behavior
And documenting every little screw up.

So that tomorrow could be a brighter day
Doesn’t quite seem to work that way.

Life Is Short In Contrast of a Star.
When in shadow
The eyes burn clear
The ropes that bind me here.
Ancient mangroves wilt to dust
I question the monotony
Of the end and beginning again.
Why is it we must wither and die?
Even the stars grow old and weary,
How can man hope to stand longer
Than in a fleeting moment.
A million lives pass by
In the single year of a stars life.
Humanity’s existence is short.
So simplistic and instantaneous
We are but the fillers of a time
Between the deaths of a star,
Sad, but true time is short
For those in contrast of a star.

All Lives Do Pay
Given time
All trees grow old.
All lives do pay
their dues at deaths gate.
Even those who are so old
To have seen three centuries.
Given time,
Death will come,
Even to the immortal.

Quartet 1
Consistency leads to the
Inability to make reason,
To improvise a stagnant
Situation and fix it on the call.


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