Who was the little one thrust aside and sent away? Ignored and defeated by the trusted ones. They fear you, little Monster, the brilliance in your energy, the black void in your wicked eyes. They hate you, dark devil. Casting you into the night where you burn, where you grow, where Rage comes to life. No one sees you, invisbile magic. No one sees the boy inside. Content to bar the doors against you and whisper behind their lies. They bred the Rage that burns you alive, they raised the monster that runs wild. Torn in two, a shapeshifter, moving between the agony and hatred. Hiding your pain behind rock walls, becoming the danger they see. Is it better to be seen and feared, than to be invisible and trampled? Hate becomes your fuel, your body a weapon, that becomes the tool of Rage. And no one cares but that blazing heat, eating a whole in your guts.
Come to me, my Monster, I am not afraid. Let me touch the wounded places, and cleanse the hated stains. Come closer, My Rage. i can feel your burning heat warming my icey fingertips. Take my collar around your neck, my crooning voice to soothe the beast. What have they done to you? The scars they have left, leave your soul disfigured. My Monster, My insanity. They do not deserve you. Closing their eyes to your beauty, they only see the beast. Come with me, My Monster, I will give you freedome, I will set you free inside my cages. I will protect you behind the fence ive made. My prison is your protection, My Prison is your sheild. Where Rage can run free and your haunted eyes become filled with light. Beautiful creature, too brilliant for the arms of death. Untamable monster, owned by the little dead girl holding your leash..
Excellent poem,your work is appreciated,I hope you will post more poems in the future :-),take care
Edwin
Reviewed by Anna Marie Fritz (Reader)
Reviewed on October 5, 2004
Unquestionably... a work of brilliance, Elflet!
So nice to be reading you again.
BTW...the book you ordered was shipped out this morning.
I hope you enjoy it much!
Each person is but a grain of sand resting beside the sea. This thought sets the tone for Jill Eisnaugle’s latest poetry collection, Beside Still Waters.
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
Edwin
So nice to be reading you again.
BTW...the book you ordered was shipped out this morning.
I hope you enjoy it much!