Think around the verses sung,
The chorus screams loudest.
Shrill cries of agony that drip,
crimson blood, a wrecked soul,
in A minor, tortured lyrics
that dance deadly rituals.
An art that demands a pure slavery,
Remember the compelling whispers,
rhythmic temptations,
a prelude to melodious captivity.
Its tone scrapes the ends of sanity,
desperate to touch the heights of perfection,
Each time stumbling,
Into shadowed shackles, chained to disappointment.
White tears stain the page,
distorting sense, spilling untold secrets,
that bellow from a brazen tongue.
Come now into a quiet embrace,
Forget the existence of love,
Become silence....
Beautiful piece of poetry, well articulated and nicely penned in poetic diction. Thanks for sharing. Please read my poem MANDELA - THE IMMORTAL ICON.
Thank you very much. I did read it and commented what I believe it meant to me. It did hit home in many ways, loved it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I agree with Chinedu. Well written and eliciting deep thoughts. Thanks for sharing, Dwain. Peace
Thank you Kelly, this piece means a lot to me as it came at a very hard time in my life