Since I'm in the mood for poetry, here's one of my poems that I wrote a little while ago:
Tyrant
The cord tightened round the neck,
As this fear burned emptiness,
Staring at me, eyes of stone,
Slouched upon his ashen throne,
Boiling wax dripped from his claws
My scorched back winced hard bleeding, raw.
His coarse grip an eyeless gaze,
Set on purging one more stain,
Made my heart skip two spaces left,
Its beat an airless howl, bereft:
How could one man destroy so much?
What fiery glance, what bloody touch-
What would I give to hold mine own,
This steel length, to hang the crown.
But then I looked up yet again,
Saw two eyes flashing, wearing thin,
Beneath those sores, those two deep bags,
Folding up and down like caves,
The pits of Hell extinguished, froze,
Just one drunk fool there, one old man,
His slick black hair spread far too thin,
Atop a heavy, morose grin.
I wept for him, for all of them,
That black, confused mass wavering there,
The sun burnt on these folds of flesh,
Where tributaries ran endless,
Another space, another sky,
To think that two hands could touch lives,
To think that beneath his gold shirt,
There lay a slowly pounding heart,
Nor did it stop, but it survived,
One small mallet strike a time,
My knots of rage frayed away,
There was no hate there, only shame.
If only I could tell him so,
But still the rope length quickly closed,
If only words could heal time,
If only voice could stop a mind,
If only-
