I am no poet

I am no poet

There is no beauty here

Just the raging of a bloodied soul

Crying for the departed

A visceral scream

From within the eye

Of a hurricane

A forlorn shrug

As the dying

Of the days

Is paraded

In bold relief

Against a violet sunset

As the young ones

Melt into a sea

Of fallen angels

Sacrificed to sanctify

The expedient

Of an old gods truth

I call to you

Remember the wayward

Travellers for

They will find a path

Well journeyed

By simple souls

And when the time comes

They too will be enraged

To be recalled

In vested interest

By those

With words enough

To share

There is a powerful divide

Released in meaningful

Commemoration

There is no beauty

In death

There is little poetry

In sadness

Other than the

Hidden waves

Of sound ghosting through

The disappointment

At the tip of

Every tied tongue