To The Tyrant Poem by Benjamin Rome Clarke
To The Tyrant
Corrupt me.
Pure milk, red venom.
Petal, wrench.
Feather, pluck.
Tear asunder.
Drown in thunder.
Slaughter me.
Sickest pain, sweetest pleasure.
Match, strike.
Perfume, light.
Shoot the wonder.
Riches plunder.
Devour me.
White noise, fire screaming.
Veins, pull.
Flesh, chew.
My blood you may swill.
Your appetite, fill.
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: hate
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
12 November 2013
Sometimes insidious hate needs to be put into words in order to be left behind.
Sometimes insidious hate needs to be put into words in order to be left behind.
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5/6/2024 8:54:46 AM # 1.0.0.1119
