Triumphantly I dance,
In the shadows of the swallows,
While those (then deemed victorious),
Were destined to be followers.
It has been a while,
Since such a dance, I danced,
But imagination shan’t be shoved,
Nor a vampiric shadow cast.
No matter how far,
No matter how wide,
No matter the color of pride,
Strangling from the inside.
Yet perched atop an arctic plane,
Quite painfully insane,
One might dance,
With all one’s wit,
Poor footing caused a slip.
A disenchanted freefall,
Being frozen whole by snow,
A frigid tundra’s endless,
Inside thy icy soul.
Alone, alone, a stolid whisper,
A puff of wasted breath,
That tries to reach the mongrel’s ear,
Before fading to its death.
The distance,
Far too large to overcome,
In the throes of Where’d Ya Go.
And all the while yesteryear,
Falls victim to the bow,
Whilst running from the show.
One arrow loosed does end it all.
Falling, falling, falling.
Falling through life,
Falling through death,
Falling through dreams not invented yet.
And still the dance goes on and on,
It outlasts the beggar’s song,
And outweighs the sharp insistence of,
A blood red thirsty dawn.
Forgotten, but not gone.


If you want more great poetry these might just be the ones for you!



The Diablo Venerable


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