Deranged Poem by Aleksandar Stefanovic

A sea of corpses, the white doves pluck at their hollowed marrows,
A swarm of infection, squirming doctors parse their butchered husks,
Clouds of wailing screams, encouraged by deranged warmongers,
Red masks, painted with the shards of holy suns,
Shadowed crows, bred through the incest of children,
The cart, a mirror, a trans way, pulled by thousands of smiling beggars,
Cold sunlight bursts through their chests, soul's frozen, bodies charred,
A million taunting faces, eaten to stone by alien music,
I watch the sun linger after nightfall, the stars at dawn, the dawn at nightfall,
The maze of eternal resentment, broken by tireless empathy,
A filled home full of dancing demons, and sluggish depths,
Upon the springing lies, and burning truths,
Does the home stand seemingly unaccused,
Of mindless grins, cold bodies, and warming blood,
For none see the splendid failure, nor the terrible success,
That the home does never clearly offer, nor normally possess.