In my dreams
I can see a face
erased, misplaced, incased
in the dirt
worked, upturned, churned
partially burned
in the deep black earth...
here it lay
a soulless display
like death on parade
with eyes hazed,
in white.
Glazed,
in the moonlit light.
Unfazed
by the darkness
surrounding it
like a frame in the night.
I could see his fear
in expression.
Hear is screams
in impression.
and the air reeked
with unbearable depression.
I knew this life
though un-shown.
His soul...
all alone,
scared and prone
lips sewn
and left to roam
the unspeakable zone.
And here I stand
the last man
with the upper hand
in this plan.
And within
my mind
were unkind
egotistical memories,
behind
suppressed symmetries
but my eyes
blind
to those crossed lines
in my life's time...
Oblivious now
and as I float
to the storm
that quickly approached,
encroached
upon the broken soul
I had poached,
still high on the blood
in which I'm soaked.
and within that storm
was a storm
it's thunder rolled
with concocted lies
bold
It's winds blow
cold and uncotrolled
and deep in the midst
his soul
chasing my demons
on the coat tails
of the devil
And then the rains came
a Torrent
pouring in blame,
with lightning like fingers
pointing in shame.
Fore it was me
his blood had stained...
And In its fit
of tornadic rage
though life
disengaged,
his rain spat words
to written page.
With those words
I realize
his soul
told no lies
this day
my last ride.
Fore death was sentenced,
gavel dropped
no pennants
door locked
key tossed,
thrown away
forever lost...
and the life
I tortured
to death
has tormented me
to my last breath
and within the gas
is his wicked unrest.
©chrisjones
C