THE ROAD PART II.

so we had to post another new line of poems for your reading pleasure hope you enjoy them below is the second part to the poem "the road". thanks

THE ROAD PART II.

I.

Stained souls stills sanity

Light barrenly bares a sickening gaze

This cul-de-sac bares another bloody corpse

Bloody splatters dulled by the moon’s unclear gaze.

And the boy laid there

Every passing stranger sees a part of his heart.

And they!

They finally came in droves

All to place a valuation of this dark art.

The flowing lines of blood as it trickled out with a dulled fervor

The sharp angry drawings of an artist marred with obsession

This little puzzle of death and art attracts every passing stranger

The mourning morning may mar the tipping thought

This cul-de-sac with its corpse of murdered men talks out and we have to hear

Blood, hate, timidity measured immeasurably.

In that silent crowd

A phone and a stranger takes this picture

This silent rage of death stood.

And while we watched

Souls burned.

This way we feel

When we see death

Makes every man a silent murderer

This pavement of death

Makes me see

That I am capable of darkness too!

II.

A broken window clears my eyes from its drunken truth

But the liquor has left my doubts from this drunken daze

I sit, paralyzed by a seething rage

A burning gust of wind to settle my uneasy heart

For a moment

I could drown beneath this stinking hole

My lungs rebelling before my gut.

But that cul-de-sac of a murdered man

Hangs around my thoughts like a guillotine

Forever my fate is tipped by a railing rope

And night seamlessly blurs to day

I drift between this fugue existences

For the most part,

I am a cautious mess.

This need that hangs around  my soul

This valiant need for justice

This haze of dreams that makes blood my equation

Gnarls my reasoning to a pulp

These constant trials of blood

Takes all of the man I am.

Yet I fruitlessly trudge

Rationalizing the image of that murdered man on that cul-de-sac

Compartmentalizing my grief, I embrace the thought of a gun

“ If I could shoot this darkness”

I may dull this rage of madness and seek my justice.

But someone else would relive my grief

Falling under the same seed of bloodlust

Constantly seduced to assuage his hurt.

This revenge we unwittingly seek

Makes us all murderers too.

Are we better?

III.

This life we live with ease

Is not cursed with tribulation.

Should we then flee?

From ourselves!

The road is clear with its conscience bare

There are many travelers but few journeys

Fear and hate has swiveled all dreams

Now man! Fights to live again.

But the road is not the scrub of death

Its lines should be travelled more

With love, the pavements will bloom in dreams

Till the rainbow gently calls

And we do not have to be ashamed of our shadows

Nor flee from our silence.been a while since our last post so here you go