Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

Bats

I'm blinded,
And would rather be amaurotic
Than to have the light
Pointing its beams
Upon my nearly albino face.

They say I'm a frail art,
Shopping technique
Around to those
Who have a fondness
For art but no hands
To create with.

They switch off the darkness
And let the sun flood
Our faces with shock.

The hellions lap up the water
And dance abuse
Upon our spines, swearing
Up and down that
We will soon be straightened
Up from out ventures
In shadows.

The hellions promise us darkness
And talent, so that
Our ashes will rise
And become better than
The black butterflies dying
In the cold of winter.

We all swear we will be better off,
We say this as we
Put the noose around our own necks.

2-6-10


Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Bats

379,023 Poems Read

Sponsors