Of all the world’s fair faces,
I envy your lifeless, smiling chrysalis,
For it’s cold, sapphire sight, searing far into the night,
Like dry forest afire,
Whose ash on your wan lips,
Is as good as tears in rain;
Void and false of pain,
Whilst your hair, long, unbound,
Waves as sea without the sound,
And for every breath you take,
Spits blood, bone and bile,
And stay stained the age old smile,
Of the victor’s fate and untamed pride,
Death’s glory: this last ride,
For which, even the heroes cried,
For which the Gods too died.

Author: TheHumanAnvil

I find poetry as a gentle reminder, a medium to relay and dwell upon all things considerate people find inconsiderate. Poetry as an art is akin to a lamp or a magnifying glass. It trails volumes of meaning behind obscure, vague words. I have been writing for a time now, and intend to do so for the time to come. And hopefully, hopefully, hope that one day, someday, a person stumbling across this veil of words, find it alluring enough to shift aside the curtain and peer, into the eyes of the naked truth which sways with the wind of reason. If you have any thoughts, it would be my pleasure to know them, if you don't then it would be a pleasure to not. Be my guest. This feast of words is for you.

3 thoughts on “Warpaint”

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