“The innocent.” Poem

The innocent.

One.

Before the centennial feverous excitement tolls upon it’s journey. A questions admiration. The picture of a dream.

A cleansed spirits lean.

To an envoy of limit.

The visions clear.

I hold you dear.

To a breeze and spark upon the dark.

The enigmatic scare.

To astounded near.

By the instant town.

Where pictures drown.

The vile insolent scare.

Of the beasts rear.

A priority of none.

The enviction of claims.

To adore.

I pity sensuality.

You whom bore me clothes.

To the apology of wars.

A destiny’s sullen chorus.

To stare upon the fruit of your shores.

The liot’s pretty wand.

A scent of steam.

Where prizzies ream.

The dire tentacles of shoes.

Fiddles and crusty words.

To an ammended fortunate sway.

Of demonic guilt.

Insisted upon the grace of giants.

In a layer mist of reliance.

The few are bereft.

To shove allegiance.

The prune tail.

A victimized by beauty.

The vigilante stair.

Cased to an insolent smear.

I ceased to exist.

In the clouds.

The piled up shortcut.

To a garden variety show.

And tell of white snow.

While candles lit the cave.

A cushion folder stern.

Reaches where shadows burned.

The ideosynchrony of lies.

Two.

A cry for morning.

In the lizard takes.

Of spitting images.

A posed stuck release.

To the winds of fury.

I can not what you seem.

Varingly the property isn’t sold.

To a pitchforked demon.

Cascading flames and blizzard storms.

The rain is near.

Giddy up the erratic sulphur mist.

In diamond soup.

And pearl porridge.

There as of none.

The stint of shadow gone.

I care for you.

Therapeutic laments.

I the dreaded insult of famine.

An epiphany in the mirror gate.

Too sudden for death.

The mask of shadow.

Wearing the midnight oil.

Farther than what you are.

The leuth fringes of day.

Presumed a wound I sense.

To the prosperity of sin.

A portrait of a clown.

Too honest to steal.

Leisure hat.

Tainted baffoon’s table.

To share no more.

Blind as a bat.

The vindicate mother tease.

Such a winner’s pleased.

A sworn plead of girth.

In a dance of duty.

The mitigated mild contempt.

Plays on art.

Three.

I wonder if that fly has a lord.

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