don't try to say too much
clarity breeds disappointment

"Avast," he spoke,
and fell to the ground.
Bullet through his back neck,
collapsed without a sound.

The song of the hero,
such a lovely thing.
So perfect and pristine—
ultimately nothing.

the people of loss
have nothing on us,
pillows of unravelling floss.

only the pillow knows,
a pedestal for weakness,
our shared bygones.

The streets are dark,
on Christmas eve;
with none to rule & conquer darkness...
Staring at an abyss...thinking there's hope,
the long Halloween's nightmare lies still...
Snow slowly stranding shadows upon such a splendid slumber - this macabre alley presumed a plain phantasm.
The scent of chestnuts...flattered nothing but a bitter sweet souvenir;
even you...resemble a phantom of grief!
That terrace taught turmoil & tragedy,
on Christmas day;
all reunited to cherish cruelty & carve out hypocrisy from honesty...

~ A. Rose

A marble altar
in a gilded Baroque church —
Poor babe in manger

If I stay a nervous bud
my full bloom will not encroach upon the grandeur of another
& I will invite no retribution
Though the artist in me knows
that a whole field in bloom
Pollinates the world.
Bloom with the artists.

If I stay silent
my words cannot be smithed into a weapon of censure,
and be used to cut me into smaller pieces.
Though the poet takes my words
& alchemises them
into an elixir for healing.
Speak with the poets.

If I smother my fire
I inspire no ire from neighbouring Suns
for whom my shine is a punishable theft of thunder.
Though a sister moon mirrors my light and illuminates the next.
Shine regardless.

If I stay in my armour
my vulnerability cannot become the missile launched at me
by the traitor who begged for my truth
Though an ally reveres my courage
and meets it with the honour of their own open heart.
Open, even though.

This maiden has a noble profile,
Her body is so nice and fragile.
And If I were my friend
I’d marry her and her land.