• fromwitchpen 7w

    /(Bard)iche virtuoso/
    I was a poet: trahison des clercs

    I never counted stars
    as they burn the house of
    dusk manipulating the
    daydreams to fell in
    love with ephialtes
    I'm a drunkard
    cursing the flashbacks
    and photographs of
    augur. I'm depicting
    the future with threads
    of past time
    I'm a bardic barque
    whose debris are being
    stepped by mariners
    as flotsam
    unable to fathom; a prolix
    to rejig the spaces and
    bardiches into poems
    which are hard to gulp
    and not-that-easy to
    cognize the roads
    I build with
    black and white images
    They left
    They left one by one
    two to four
    and in thirty days
    where I tasted
    the three sixty fifth
    rotten flesh of
    forevers

    Nobody stayed
    the home to my soul
    the love of my life
    the salted-buttery elflocks of my grandma
    the last wish I made while celebrating my 11th birthday
    the guy who keeked through the orifice of fornication
    the bullets of prophecies
    the matinee to masquerade happiness

    howbeit,
    I was a poet

    Until

    who is a poet ?

    one day my heart asked
    I was discombobulated
    I read books,
    watched movies
    I kept being inquisitive
    But steadily
    instead of getting
    an answer

    I started a war
    betwixt my heart
    and mind,

    A virtuoso bard , bardiche and
    bandit named life
    snuff the cigars of chivalry
    and puff out the
    intumescent verses of
    ruination

    I'm partaking in
    sighs, cries, thwacks, flames,
    relics and coal-camphor
    of the pits of villainy

    _ I'm not guilty of the trahison des clercs I caged, by trading my poetic pale-flower. I'm a cobblestone of perfidy.

    ___________________

    @writersnetwork grateful for your kind acknowledgement :')

    Thanks, everyone!

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    My poems are home to my tears and cradle to fears, I feel warm betwixt my dark verses.
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