Poems - Tainted Heart

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Crèche Cento

Little boy blue

For you may try to sew and sew

And pretty maids all in a row

That’s the way the money goes

We’ll gently rest, while the hours away

Till daddy comes, home to stay

But all the tune that he could play Was “Over the hills and faraway”

Up to the ceiling, down to the ground

Backwards and forwards, round and round

You and you and especially you

I’ll beat you black and blue

And consider it, son, an eternal disgrace

Tell your mother,

Hurrying to heaven, lest it should be late

Lest the cautious Seraphim close the shining gate

Sources: [Pop Goes the Weasel, Mary Mary Quite Contrary, Little Boy Blue, Clap Hands Clap Hands (Till Father Comes Home), Tom Tom the Piper’s Son, Tommy My Son, Cry Baby Cry, Blue Flames and Red Flames, Dance Little Baby, Old Mother Goose Nursery Rhyme]

Juliet’s Reverie

She lies beneath the ground mother named Earth

Resting peacefully, waiting for heaven’s mirth

Never understanding, that her life given from birth was never a curse

Tempted by the devil who promised rebirth

Princess in her palace, she was trapped in this cage

Who could never escape, from this never-ending stage

Stuck as a stone in a king’s cold age

Because her life was only half of a play to be played

She wasn’t born with a fatal disease

But with whispers of her best enemy’s melodies

Telling her that life is better left said when ended with tragedy

So she left the earth—fortified with lies and filled with such agony

I reminisce,

Free from this cage, a black dove lacking in innocence

You perceive my sickness, with your head in the skies

You gave me your prescriptions, bestowed me with lies

Blinded, you couldn’t see that if of love sickness I died

Romeo would survive to be ignorant

Amour - The Vicious Cycle

What is love?

We rise to love

That is a burden

It’s something that can never be done

Without knowing where it begun

And it can leave us, with none

It’s like being in the smallest of cold cages

The more you stay, the greater the outrage

Because these feelings you hold are symptoms of Life’s plague

And the answers all, so very vague

An old fellow once said love gives itself; it is not bought

But little did he know that love is to be shot

To be twisted in a tight knot

So, fuck love. Right?

So tell me again, what is love?

Is it like being cuddle in a warm glove?

Is it as pure as the likes of a white dove?

Is this just the lust of love?

The question I asked myself constantly

Love that can’t be seen physically, yet to which we fall almost instantly

It’s ridiculous, how we’ve fought these indescribable emotions so viciously

Though we cannot deny, we led ourselves into this position deliberately

Heartbreak,

We ache consistently

So tell me what is love

To which it may end instantly?

Mrs Jackson

Your voice echoes, bouncing from one room to another

Your screams enveloped my ears and I felt smothered

Your eyes bulged out and your mouth silently popped

Your body melted, flopped, slopped and plopped

My husband, I let you breathe for a second

I would ask how you’re doing, but you were fine I reckoned

So I continued to listen to your squeak and shriek

To my pleasure, quickly your face became another argument’s antique

My wife, when you struggled I kissed you, oh so slowly so you wouldn’t make a sound

I laid you down, on this makeshift wooden bed beneath the ground

Feel free Mrs Jackson, pound, pound and pound

I’ve told you, again, and again to not mess around

The base in your voice bellowed, swallowed by my sickness of the mind

Tweet, tweet, tweet, like the morning’s mockingbird, my joy was unconfined

Worry not my husband, I took care of the man in our bed

Into the web of a married widow, he was led

Coffee spilt on her ripped, blood-stained t-shirt

They came and yelled stop resisting or you’ll get hurt!

When I walked out, I saw you risen from your second slumber

Lucky for you, this death was only a number

Crusade

When I look down at my dirty combat boots

The lases submerged in nothing but our blood and dust

My fingers wrapped in this black soot

Where are thou Gods, so just?

Shall I pretend that these hands be not murderous?

Who will I become, shall I see this bloodbath over?

Shall I continue in the pretense that this mission has a purpose?

When I cease to be the remains of a man that I am, merely becoming a memory’s leftover

What was I thinking signing up for being his pawn piece, in this insane game of chess

Thousands, I am surrounded by his sinners impure, painted in blood-stained bold faces

Lord forgive me, for my sins I confess

In this forest of death between bodies of borne races, never returned to their birthplaces

So long as I breathe, ruins are left after they crumble and fall

So long as I believe in peace, the sun shall shine above the wall

M. T.

My father, how he loved Mark Twain

Ironically, he always spoke for the dead

The two most important days in your life

Are the day you are born and the day you find out why

But he was wrong, most definitely wrong

He lived his life maintaining the proverb’s wisdom upon his back

Without realizing that he left me behind it

So he could prove that Mark Twain, most definitely right

But where’s the solution that lies inside a child’s stomach—empty.

Or that to her, his eyes were the only guidance in a house which was haunted

Or that the acquaintance of cold wind was the thread that sows the patches within

And the stinging slaps were the closest thing I felt to love—tragic.

I hate how every solution is from the gospel of Mark Twain

‘The secrets of getting ahead is getting started’

But to get ahead in a circle leads to where father?

Mistakes—upon mistakes... Have I failed?

He wasn’t my father, not anymore

But merely a man, who lived within the book’s shadow

Cast down, his wings featherless

To be shunned by society but mostly me

Tide and time, I told him his lucid obsession was sick

One who is dead cannot love you more than me

Or so, that is what I once believed

End of time signifies death by the click of the clock’s tick

Listen well, my father. There is one worst day in your life:

The night when I tragically died, found hung in your room of seclusion

Awareness lands on his birthday, tomorrow at noon

And I quote a favourite for you: say hello to the dark side of the moon

The Innocent

Let me hold the moon in this quiet night

And I’ll cry upon its shoulder till my heart dries

Let me kiss you, one last time before the crowd yells it’s showtime!

I’ll be your white knight that’s tainted in the dark night

Seduce you so you’ll forget that I’m not the monster that cries behind a disguise!

Let me hold the moon in this quiet night

Hold my hand, till it breaks and flies among the angry night

A man whose life is drenched in black and white; Embrace me, till I can’t breathe

Let me kiss you, one last time before the crowd yells it’s showtime!

Cover my eyes before he who smites, despite within me, the white light

He, who walks upon my shadow is the red horned devil, and I fall underneath

Let me hold the moon in this quiet night

Write about me, the man who sweeps the streets at night

Who got cheated by a man who huffs and puffs and blows the house down

Let me kiss you, one last time before the crowd yells it’s showtime!

I’ll have my last meal under the moonlight

Till hell greets me with a sudden frown

I’ll smile when I hold the moon before the morning light

Let me kiss you, one last time before the crowd yells it’s showtime!

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