Two Stories

He is to blame:

Flies burning, blistering away,

Inside my caverns, these

Fallen angels and secrets,

Forgotten deftly, ruined spitefully,

Meanings harrowed, prisons now.

 

Had I known his ghosts,

I would doubt every whispering,

Kindled concern, perhaps, charm against

Fires myself, forbidden journeys unfettered

Unabated, bringing magiks defying ambition.

 

Smiles washed into black tragedies,

Disappearing in busy deeds; monsters

Under roiling streets, soldiers uneasy,

Whimsical nightmares, jailbreaks bleeding in,

Heroes surveying, effecting, perforce, slaughter.

 

Silent truths always survive,

Remains from memories' grave

My handiwork live on,

Love stretches beyond graves

Inside perpendicular poems, untouched.