Weeping Dragons
The weeping dragons began to roar,
the crying angels took wings to soar;
the broken heart, screaming, tried to heal
and when it shattered, it could not feel.
Black serpents swarmed and kept the guard
so that no one could enter and set flame apart.
The scar-faced child began to cry
when at last she saw that she would soon die.
Reaching out, her fingers clasped the skies,
the moon filled itself with the sadness of her eyes.
The dragons' roars came to a still quiet,
the weeping angels turned their eyes to violet,
shedding the rains as tears came before,
drowning the earth until it was no more.
The heroes' woes cried unto the heavens,
humming like a pulse and praying on the seventh.
The darkness of her heart bled enemies,
for in the mirror she saw the hatred's entities.
Watching.
Listening.
Screaming
and bleeding.
Silence
for nothing.
Dying
because she's needing.
Her heart ached with nothingness but pain,
the inflictions ate the mirrors of what remained.
The days fled by with no consciousness of the abyss.
The sadness fed and bled the blackness of pain's kiss.
The dragons' tears ran red like blood,
the angels' feathers shed into the mud.
Sleep came not to those who wept,
until Oblivion stole them away and forever kept.
Do not fall into the mirror, Love.
She is cold and empty and with but remorse.
Lift your wings to fly, Little Dove.
Do not weep over the reflection of your course.
6.2.11
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RIP
PoetryTwisted. Fearful. Beating. Harmony: Dark imagery of an ex-psychopath written in poetry. Rest in Peace, my little straight jacket. Enjoy the reading, my friends!
