Under thousand looming stars
Stamped in the night black sky
Where all the opputunities fly.

On the cold dew-covered ground
Standing under the star dust blanket
I realise my own insignificance.

Here, where kings and queens govern
Everything seems too substantial
Even your own image is so ambigous.

Complexity of life is beautiful as nature
The soul and heart of humans, fair
Or demonish and guileful, evil and sly

What guides your soul must be just
Like the universe in its brilliant grandeur
Simple love as the first step to generosity.

They never should have let me out of the box,
these harnesses are coddled in rust and will never do,
I nearly have an arm free now.
Tis the bloodlust,
the ever recurring,
I cauterize so sickly raptured and recoiled,
vile animal reveling beneath fang and flesh.
Tis the beast wrought beneath this parchment bearing,
what is left of mortal means
as the morals feast upon the limbs and lungs of one another.
Ever screaming,
my memories wrench and tear,
torn in ribbons splayed from lung to tissue.
My demon slaughters the remnants packed and hid way
in corner and shadow,
ideals and sockets of life scratch and rip
across the flesh of the air as their lungs flood so violently,
doused in creamy blood liquid.
I die so sullenly,
so intrepidly,
dripped in god’s sunlight beams,
bathed in crackling spine and broken butterfly wings.
I writhe not in brain fractured grenade shrapnel,
not felted amongst iron clad bomb shards,
I lie so serenely,
stomach basking in sun beam,
I bite and suckle upon such succulent fruits of flesh,
human meat and such soft hips of lustful imps,
so untouched and littered in my most precise of bite marks.
I stake claim to the everest of fiendish hues,
chains so kin to my sins,
mind so ravaged in demonish,
all thought is mother to acts so sickly in hellish cravings,
I seek no retribution for ideals so crimped and carved through my bones.
All is relative to one’s fiendish benevolences.
I take care to ratify my most ancient of antiquities,
the very blood line that so racks this mortal sense of the human reality.
This evil is ever bearing and eternal lasting,
nor it’s will softened.
Shackles crease and crinkle
so fondly with every sickly furnished breath.

Scourged and spit upon his loving crown
Made to look a fool, when already being down
None true backer's, to rescue this loving being
A prophet of end times, as the world was his sting:

Showing affection tis his own thing
The globe hath forgotten, thing's he doth bring
They point finger's, and hate, like none tommorrow
Yet they'll seeith their fate, from them he got sorrow:

He lended his hand out, as they just laughed
They kneweth not amour', their heart's all like glass
Though they broke his, like the human's they were
They loved lust, not amare, they loved anger to splurge:

They put him on the chopping block
They took off his forgiving charmed head;
They killed him with demonish feeling's
As he floated over their abode's of death:

Though now being blessed, he still forgiveth
Them down there thinking, this was all it,
Though judgement wilt hit them, tis there is karma
The devil they've brought, the devil to be with them tommorrow.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry