Moonlight on Sunburnt Skin

Red is the color of passion,
it is ablaze in your eyes
as you stand on a table,
righteous in your anger,
consumed by justice for the people.
Justice! Is there even such a thing?
The poor are the rich,
and the rich are blind.

Woe to the man
who bears no thoughts of his own.
He who believes in nothing
shall reap what he has sown:
He stands for nothing,
and will fall for anything.

Those who do nothing in your eyes
may do everything out of sight.
He fills the void,
yet he doesn’t listen
only hearing the sweet siren song
of venomous cherubim,
who mock his devotion
and shred his heart with razor-sharp claws.

His love stains the walls.
His admiration suffocates him,
a miasma of toxic air he inhales
every time he looks into your eyes.
His veneration is invalidated,
his adoration is rebuked.

Everything was a lie.

And yet,

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem