I have my rhetoric.
My quick tongue
Fancy that!
And you have your old intelligence.
Bitterness!
For there is no substance
here
but my own wit.
Disastrous wit!
Gregorian
I cast you
back
to your birth -
and arise
from the depths
a thousand Arian dreams
of icy madness
to relieve
the in-concrete darkness
Oh, that I was born
from my mother's womb.
Disgrace!
I'd
smash his skull in.
Eat Raw death
from my belly
Real flesh
self cannibalistic
uh, drink my fever...
a liter of boiled blood.
A dog that will
bark
and be beaten
by his master
His mutiny
will boldly
stare
grizzly
into the night -
that mutt!
And for this
my quick wit
will disagree
with all.
Yes, I am not agreeable
whatsoever.
It is this dreadful
stare -
this gnarled face,
that feeds
the day
dangerously
so...
- - -
The audio rendition -
http: //www.youtube.com/watch? v=FjtRrA8cgbY
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
quick wit. I like this. thanks. I invite you to read my poems and comment.