Poetry Is

Sepulcher of negative images

And bad ambitions

Shut, locked

And burned

Releasing me from a world

Bent on dragging my


Over a bed of jagged red, hot nails

A tool for my boundless dreams

Ripped from he seams

Of my imagination

Thrust onto the human race

So they can understand and feel


The flow within me

Bled onto the words

Of which I speak

Enticing, spellbinding


Grinding into the black hole

That is your mind

The sign of eternal literature

Giving a voice to those

Who are afraid to converse

With the devils of the deadly sins

And overcome them

Expelling the snakes with the tongue

For it’s mightier than the sword and gun






One comment

  1. Caitlin McGregor · November 26, 2013

    Wow! I love the contrast between exploring vulnerability and empowerment. Awesome piece.

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