All An Anarchist Could Care

Such sweet soliloquies
Were wasted when
Jilted, jaded, jawless,
Wanton women wailed
Mindless melodies mostly
Lamenting long lost love

Someday siren songs
Will whisper where
Ravaging rocks rose relentlessly
Dangerously demonstrating deep
Water waits wickedly whilst
Your youth yields

Her hands held his heart
Tight, taut, timidly
Tracing thin ties
Across an aching artery
May more mercies

Have half her hope
And all an anarchist
Could care, could
Ever expect exists
In iridescent internecine

Mixed mechanically
By better beaus, bowing before
Mice, men, mortals,
Deaf deities, dead dreamers

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Piercing Blue

So this is what passion is
All that it is, all that it ever was
When it’s laid out, stripped bare
And shown for what it really is

Bursting, short, sharp spurts
A few manic minutes to break the monotony
We need, we crave it, we hunger for the
Release, the relief

So gasp, gulp it all down
The essence is essentially all
You need child
To forget for one second

Just how you turned out
How every rock you hurl
Bounces back off the glass
Bruising that already bloodied

And blistered face
You’ve torn the veil from grace
And seen the wrinkles that have
Set in and hang around once soft

Lips and been shocked to see
But not too shocked
That those piercing blue eyes
Have turned to grey and clouded

Over. It’s all over and now
As you sit, rocking back and forth
They’ll never understand your need for
Mediocrity or an even keel

Smooth sailing without the pits
And troughs along the way because
Once you’re riding a wave
You can’t hold back the sickening knowledge

That soon you’ll be lost at sea
Adrift and crashing against
Those tired allegorical rocks
Without a siren, a harpie, a sylph or
A selkie to offer some brief respite
To rub your back, hold you tight and whisper
In that one ear that works;
It’s all alright, at least you’re alive