A Grey Mind

Sour painter winter,

I drown in your wilderness…

The crying moon with pain to tinker,

The sky to laugh at my dry emptiness…

The cold wind to seep,

Her memory’s all that’s left to keep…

Dreams all torn and bleak,

Sweet misery that lies beside to set me free…

Her finger that once laid feeble on this empty palm,

Now the walls shutter to the drug’s ripple,

Her eyes now beg for these pupils to disarm...

And her breath stings like wooden teeth fed to a waxed nipple…

A violin played on an empty stage,

The musician cries to life’s tragedy…

Strings scream in defying rage,

Guns to kill agonized blasphemy…  

I’m a personification of pain,

My eyes lie dead in a cage...

A pill to tickle an aggressive vein,

I’m a torn book with an empty page…

Hope lies dead in an empty grave,

A cigarette lit in a grey painted room…

Cobwebs to watch and crave,

A closed door sealed with a broom…

The needle stings pale to my skin,

A wound sterilized in rotted gin…

The roof painted in grey ink,

A sea of sorrow calls for me to finally sink…

Conscience - The Other State of Mind

" Note: This poem is fictitious and is based on the psychological effects of an individual involved in war crimes and the ill effects as depicted. :-) For world peace..."

Advisory - Content might not be suitable for sensitive readers. 

His Brittle eyes seep,

Frigid lips waxed still…

A portrait on a shelf to keep,

And soil for a heart to till…

A Centipede eats up the edge,

The play is staged with rage…

An actor burnt alive under the bridge,

An old man despises his age…

His eyes crave for sadness,

Whilst sadness craves for peace… 

The torch lit up with madness,

Time to tickle his hand a tease…

The gun lies naked on the table,

 His fingerprints recite its only law …

The blood painted on the curtain writes a fable,

Spelt with names he lusted like a saw…

The night was cold with the wind still young,

His mind filled with the anthems they sung…

Chants recited from the depths of a lung,

A weeping brays where the bells once rung…

The bullet lain cold on the bed,

His only friend to sleep in filth...

A tragedy swallowed the soul he once wed,

The tragedy he once fought now just guilt…

The medal shined with the same old pride,

Yet his veins sufficed seldom…

The war is death’s smiling bride,

What gives life and what the hell’s freedom?

Confused with thoughts,

A pillow to invite lost nightmares…

The sheet tied in knots,

Bedbugs now his only dare…

He looks outside the window,

The moon hates the sight of him…

The stars have no words to endow,

The wind all cold and grim…

He once stood upon a stage,

Named a soldier who fought a war…

To a play where the crowd cheered in rage,

The same voices now afar…

No pigeon now brings him peas,

The medals now just fruits on a wooden tree…

His uniform now sold in a lease,

For the children to play a game called Peace!!

The Awaited Agony: Beauty and the Beast - A Gothic Etymology - Part V – A Beauty for the Beast

PS: The lines of ‘Beauty’ are written by Beneeta Xavier.

Beast:

Your Iris as wet as the rain that pours down when I see them,

I’ll spill mine to see your daze;

Your breath as gentle as heaven,

Like a flower steadfast in a frigid stem;

I’ll write you a poem forever with no pen!

Beauty:

Like rainbows in the rain,

You’re breath for a terrain;

Like meadows in a plain,

This breath for you makes me go insane.

Beast:

Why ponder when thine heart resides in mine;

You’re a clock to a pendulum to this heart’s chime.

If a sea could write itself a tide;

These eyes to you are none but cries!!!!

Beauty:

            Then stumble and fall if you dare,

            Into this tremendous lair!

            For in it you find care,

            A flower that truly scares!