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Thursday, August 19, 2010

Demon Hunting

We fall inside a sphere of masquerade and fear,
Streaked blood and dust all through, like little walls
Built of vanishing cards and formless souls.

Insistent and persistent lies, I idolize;
Above all else I worship any proof
That lies are real, more than the ugly truth.

And gladly death would take me in his purple hand
And squeeze me till I bled like warm, fresh juice
Into his cup. Look up; there's no excuse.

Full twenty thousand years, and half that time spent lost,
A laugh cracked out, unnoticed, edged, serrated.
Those who can hear it now are overrated.

An eye turns upward glinting like diamond facets:
Cold, wet, made of white marble with red veins...
And devoid of all that heals or sustains.

2 comments:

  1. "And gladly death would take me in his purple hand
    And squeeze me till I bled like warm, fresh juice
    Into his cup. Look up; there's no excuse."

    Very nicely put indeed. Its an interesting poem, dark and brooding...

    Keep it up :)

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  2. Btw, thanks a lot for following my blog and for your kind comments. I have also replied to your comment. Perhaps being a little late in the day coz I was away for couple of weeks and could not keep up with my blogging endeavors. Which normally doesnt happen coz I am usually a 24/7 blog nerd :)

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