© Sept. 1, 2017. All Rights Reserved.
Prosperity from a wink
Like poverty from a blink,
I can sign a burning oath,
Which prevents myself from growth,
Then dye my hair burgundy
Walking overseas carefree.
Carefully hearken to me.
There’s heart in my memory.
There’s doubt in my supporters,
Threats in my flaws overseen,
And dreams are only obscene.
They’re see-through like crystal genes
In mystic isles, but they’re machines.
The waftures in the brume never comes.
Sempiternal pipe dreams in Tophet
Inside the philistine flames, which hums
Are peaches and cream like sulfur sweat.
Somewhat like burgundy bayonets,
Hate begets hate like semethicone bets.
Aphorisms born with sidetracked eyes
Upon the disembodied war cries,
For my inordinate time deforms
Gasping for air during thunderstorms,
Seen upon the Earth. I stalked heaven;
You’re a blithe passion like oxygen.
Shall the kindest lass share your boudoir?
Shall you fathom my lifelike scars far?
The harbinger of death dwells without,
Burning me an impuissant route.
Tyranny’s fallen like an oil rig
Where flails crack every dyad too big.
Mattocks swing every bard asunder,
Where anguish betides a wonder.
Lucifer. Astaroth. Azazel. Belial.
The sullied empyrean envies.
Their ichor cries a manna of tears,
To the shingle upon land and seas,
But the gloomy depths remain dry years.
Shepherd me to your ethereal heart,
Which croons in ordeals like a fresh start.
I vow to raise our love, which smolders,
Thus, I’m burning, but I spare you blurs.
These sentries have somniferous grips
While hymeneal songs cause guilt trips.
Dulcify my qualms with your key smiles,
Which is effulgent in love trials.
Ahriman, beguiled by elixirs,
Dithering and dallying saviors.
Vehement kisses in the valleys
From bellicose Jezebels on knees.
The debris from their lips careen left
Enervated souls are of lost theft.
Cynical minions seize ulus. Ooh!
There’s bagh nakas and spears. Déjà vu.
Lucifer. Astaroth. Azazel. Belial.
Stranded, expect a lover,
To guide you undercover.
There’s myths, lies, and demon cries.
Eyes fly to heart’s shy. Surprise!
Yet, you ignore souls that’s weak.
I can smile and make you speak.
From cheek to cheek, very rough,
For I scrape bones till tough.
Feigned smiles tainted with ashes.
Gnashed teeth tear through rear slashes.
You squeal, but I understand.
You just need a second hand.
Isaiah Lawrence 