My Mother was killed, along with
A cousin, many friends like brothers.
Twisters of death's erosion
Scooped me up and led me on
The path of vengeful living.
I had to make something from all the
Death, a pile of flesh staring out
At the quarter moon, so
Unknown that many
took me as orphaned.
Yes, me, Dedpoet, bearer of words
Once was lost in the fire's reign.
I would walk in the rain catching
My mother's tears for her lost child,
Hoping to catch the light and be
Taken into skies hopeful greys.
I became a rock that heads were
Decapitated upon, the house of regret
Stirring the animal inside to prey
Upon that which preyed on me.
Deep inside wept a little boy poet:
Fallen in the abyss,
Mother's golden light,
So far into the unreachable sky...
I was told that if I didn't straighten out
I would be in a cage with no words,
But the words welled from deep springs
Of pain that could be written on
A window using the vapor on my breath.
I danced the pale moonlit nocturnal,
I breathed the night, the point of a gun
With indecisive fingers.
I was thruster into my own war,
Living already in a warzone,
I was the the living shadow of
A Nightingale bathing under darkened
Splendors of city lights and barely there stars.
In the day, the gardens of vengeance
Were planted with fresh seeds,
I was the bloodlust of the West.
The sunlight bathed my heated words,
All the while I fell in deep love,
A collision of an unstoppable desire
With an immovable lust, we engraved
The names of lovers with a scorching pen,
A hopeful poet came alive and the words
Beckoned the Heavens attention....
Little boy, little boy,
Close your eyes
Upon the thorns,
Life never stops piercing.
The days became a hopeful cloud,
The nights were countless,
Splintered into a thousand moons,
The words of vengeful allusions
Fought alongside the love for Her.
Lucky the Raven, nevermore,
I still must be here to remember,
Lucky the dog whom bit his owner,
Homeless now but free!
Lucky the life that dies young,
Never to look back,
Like water at the foot of the mountain,
Here the river begins.
I am alone, the years fall like grains
In the hourglass, I have shed many skins,
I see the losses and the dead fallen
From uncertain graces,
What had vengeance reaped?
I wait for you all in the other side,
The words I leave will take you there,
The last place of the little boy,
He will real the stars and bathe in the
Sun with a Mother he lost so long ago.
He will kiss his lover and the twister
Grows calm, the love will cure the deepest
Affliction, he will die in her embrace,
Born again in her kiss, he leaves the gun
At the foot of the Word, and the words
Gush from his body from a nocturnal sorrow,
And immortalised pain will reign here,
The cycle of life is an embrace of tears,
Love the enscription on every one shed.
Upon my tombstone
Is the covenant of poetry,
The escape like water
between the fingers,
The distance between
Now and then is but a pen stroke.
My Story.
