I have painted dragons of material wastes,
A man has a dream of contours and disgrace,
Mothers afford the insults that sons cast
To be only collected by the Nazi warriors of haste,
These surgeons of the body and soul who
Evilly cast solitude on the soul that rests.
Stalin will die tonight with graves of vampiric
Evil, machines of evil sprout the dust to be joined
By the hesitant bacteria soiling the crazy soil.
Himmler tastes the ambitions of distaste,
His evil and disgrace is bound to suffer the wastes.
I have painted dragons of material ends and tails,
Works of art have been displaced, like the lovers
Of wine and satan, that are always in decline
Once power specialises with hearts of silver.
Stalin knows his henchmen in the light of all hate,
I love my work that defends the infirm
So that materials of selfless composition are
Delivered to the pitiful ends.
Mighty findings are disasters, mighty tastes spell
Words of hate, for wars are blending to disagree,
To warts they drive the peace and weapon.
I have painted the dragon of charcoal that foresees
The raging atoms cooling down in the centre of the
Topic(s) of this poem: free verse,pain,wastage