Book Of Sorrows


Of darkest hearts beckoning in the decietfulness of trickery
Concaved alignment steadying the richocheting type set that spells death and illusion
Constrained upon keys that click to the faintest pressing of skeletal fingers searching there own settling
To record the depth of terror upon vengeance in mortality shaken
Harvesting the description of blood upon lips that spew the message of a brutal infestation
Written into the upolstry of skin and eyes left in wretchedness
Blank paper printed of death and a heartbeat now relinquished
Within a paragraph of tattered human confessions
Brought to life in character and light by the dust stained embracing of an empty key stroke
Upon inked liberty its pendulum sways in a metallic dancing
Into the curtained clock ticking it's death into the substance of his newest creation
Monitoring his own vengeance upon a tightened registry
Hanging to dispell a gift of shadow into the story of his own timidity
A book of sorrows yielding it's primitive illusions
Dated of ridicule to the obsession of the minds of shallowness and deciet
It's gravel binding swaying each page into an unseen shadow of mystery
For he is the author of serpents and devil's
The benefactor of curious regrets and unattainable satisfaction
Attracting a wish by child's ears heard of laughter
Meticulously stroked by a seminal infraction as darkness interferes with his own lifeless heartbeat
Composing the chapters of a bloodless ruining
His tailored coat draped upon the cracks of stench and recoiled passions
Widdled into the cabnetry of a poised hollowness
Sulking the furious sentencing to fester the characters main reasoning
Until it's final chapter distorts the abhoring reality
That the book in cheapened creation is his own delirium
Berating the sensation of breath and lungs stretched unhinging
To finish the final whisper into the ear of his own demising
That will finish his masterpiece in death
And plague the complacent architecture
Of the book of sorrows dark incessant beauty......

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This Poems Story

This poem is about a very special book..