DanFC
Well-known member
This thing's a little twisted, so if you are having a bad day don't expect it to lift your spirits (unless you yourself are twisted XD). Um, I think I'm going to write an uplifting poem after this since I've realized all my poems are pretty dark. This one is not completely done, I might try to sprinkle more structure and poetry in it, but I don't feel like it now. Here it is...
Walk
I was walking away from a brazen bull
And saw a boor in a coat as he turned a sharp corner.
By his motion and emanation I was engaged to mutely shadow.
He kept bumping into bystanders, blinded by his own bright smile
And I said to myself, “Why waste such beautiful eyes?”
So I crept behind him while he was bumping away,
And I peeled out his eyes with an ice cream scoop.
I was walking down a forgotten street
And saw a gentleman scrambling through a can for lunch.
He looked awfully grimy, unkempt, and he did not look too healthy.
But he was alert to my presence with the ears of a mouse.
And I said to myself, “Why leave such wonderful ears on the noise of the streets?”
So I floated up to him while he stared with a quiet dumb look,
And I hacked off his ears with a kitchen steak knife.
I was walking from a closet with a bed
When I was closed off by my neighbor’s dire shrill.
His tall, gawky green frame berated me
For the unholy scent perspiring from my room.
And I said to myself “Why leave such a precise nose on a pest whose head is to the dirt?”
So I approached him while he was drilling away,
And I sawed off his nose with a new mechanical tool.
I was walking by a busy restaurant
And heard a beggar outside spewing complaints
About their pork and salad, but the food whiffed of culture.
But it was her right, her prerogative to say as she liked.
And I said to myself, “Why use such a crafted tongue on a vile drone?”
So I strolled next to her as she was yapping on the phone,
And I ripped off her tongue with a dirty used fork.
I was walking round my hospital room
And my surgeon slogged in mumbling about the cuts.
His skin reeked of blood and bile and his body had burnt itself to delirium after years of trauma.
But his hands! To them, I was but a clock, and he the clockmaker.
And I said to myself, “Why allow such fine hands to hopelessly sow the dead?”
So I waltzed up to him as he numbingly searched through supplies,
And I chopped off his hands with a butterfly knife.
I am sitting in front of my last supper.
I hear the knocks at my door and I know
Their putrid pig smells will follow.
I look at the laminated card in my left hand,
And I say to myself, “Why?”
And I feel the smooth finish of the trigger,
And I blow off my head with one clean shot.
Walk
I was walking away from a brazen bull
And saw a boor in a coat as he turned a sharp corner.
By his motion and emanation I was engaged to mutely shadow.
He kept bumping into bystanders, blinded by his own bright smile
And I said to myself, “Why waste such beautiful eyes?”
So I crept behind him while he was bumping away,
And I peeled out his eyes with an ice cream scoop.
I was walking down a forgotten street
And saw a gentleman scrambling through a can for lunch.
He looked awfully grimy, unkempt, and he did not look too healthy.
But he was alert to my presence with the ears of a mouse.
And I said to myself, “Why leave such wonderful ears on the noise of the streets?”
So I floated up to him while he stared with a quiet dumb look,
And I hacked off his ears with a kitchen steak knife.
I was walking from a closet with a bed
When I was closed off by my neighbor’s dire shrill.
His tall, gawky green frame berated me
For the unholy scent perspiring from my room.
And I said to myself “Why leave such a precise nose on a pest whose head is to the dirt?”
So I approached him while he was drilling away,
And I sawed off his nose with a new mechanical tool.
I was walking by a busy restaurant
And heard a beggar outside spewing complaints
About their pork and salad, but the food whiffed of culture.
But it was her right, her prerogative to say as she liked.
And I said to myself, “Why use such a crafted tongue on a vile drone?”
So I strolled next to her as she was yapping on the phone,
And I ripped off her tongue with a dirty used fork.
I was walking round my hospital room
And my surgeon slogged in mumbling about the cuts.
His skin reeked of blood and bile and his body had burnt itself to delirium after years of trauma.
But his hands! To them, I was but a clock, and he the clockmaker.
And I said to myself, “Why allow such fine hands to hopelessly sow the dead?”
So I waltzed up to him as he numbingly searched through supplies,
And I chopped off his hands with a butterfly knife.
I am sitting in front of my last supper.
I hear the knocks at my door and I know
Their putrid pig smells will follow.
I look at the laminated card in my left hand,
And I say to myself, “Why?”
And I feel the smooth finish of the trigger,
And I blow off my head with one clean shot.
