Poise on the Verge of Insanity by Danya Elmalik (good fiction books to read .txt) 📖

The Roaring Warden

At times I almost pray

To steal an ear’s worth

For then what I might say

Won’t always mean a sore

 

I fiddle and I fawn

I share most man’s odd quality

But every hour at dawn

She finds it an atrocity

 

She’s made it a tradition

Her screams and bitter song

But I’ve made it my mission

To rid her of the wrong

 

Still I am no victim

Not only at the least

I’ve named myself a critter

So she becomes a beat

 

Could right of rule be painful

In such a world as mine?

Where pity’s reign is boastful

And banshee divine

My paradise on Earth

Lurks when she sleeps at night

But when it leaves I curse my birth

And, for a moment, turn to crime

 

I near follow after

Not long before it dies

The lure of love and laughter

In lieu of blood and cries

 

But if it holds the better

I can never be sure

A slaughtered pain threshold

I’ve longed to endure

 

At times I need to cringe

How torment cures a heart

I beg to tame my sins

While essence falls uncharred

      27th and Crimson Avenue

 

All is fair in love and war

So I’ve heard many say

Not knowing what would lie in store

That there’s a price they’re meant to pay

 

The first fist calls

Tails, we begin

The simplest of brawls

A courage to sin

 

One down, two to go

So the count proceeds

A game of tumbling down a road

An isle of murderous deeds

 

Commander grins to glory

Cutting through the queues

Then desperate tells a story

Of a little girl he can’t refuse

 

Some, then lose an interest

So easily slips joy

Perhaps we meet again in winter

Grow cunning and coy

Others, erupt on instinct

The first shot fired bubbles tears

Stow away to find content

“Let’s hope they don’t find us here.”

 

So strange, they must have missed a note

Along a dreary melody

Give discipline to those who quote

“Won’t mother find me in history?”

 

But don’t you worry, just you wait

This won’t become a sore

These mile morgues will never sate

Yet all is fair in love and war

 

Me and Paulie Dine

 

Here is the steeple

No, here lies my shrine

When I was little

That was the time

Sense was so futile

The universe, mine

Though I’d retire

To rise while I die

Reared upon beauty

Thought fenland fine

Made up a routine

To dream of Paulie Dine

Battles and castles

Marches in lines

Adventure, my hassle

Hunting for rhines

At least, I’ll be sure now

It lives only that age

Take a breath, take a bow

No longer a mindless mage

Forgive me, dear Paulie

How I wish you’d stayed mine

 

 

 

At the Arch of Perdition

Unkempt services, a horror itself

The memories take refuge upon a dusty shelf

Two appointed love birds trying to sell

A modest tale of romance at the gates of hell

The ball, what a grand gesture!

Kept on easy rails at a toppling measure

They say it’s not to be forgotten

And in the evening trails a swamp house sodden

Though often tread and trimmed for lure

Barely hoping to condemn a loss meant to mourn

Surely this greatly-tied knot only leads to good

Then find a new ghost to blame for leaving as it should

So tender, so soft

Dies an ancient cot

And the lives it sought

Lay crooning draught

Their marks forever wrought

“And here you will rot.”

The Peal of Joy-Skinned Lullaby

 

My love is lathered in blood and filth

Her blotchy cheeks christened

A carcass clad in counterfeit silk

And yet she hauls her weight to rinse

 

“Might I give a hand” to my dismay

Then designated tiny tot

A meager snort and she is rage

Through nurse and nurture later taught

 

Decreed strong and rigid

I claim her to be mine

Then shrieks young and timid

To mutiny arise

 

Why then, does love need be?

I crown myself the sinner of saints

Betrothed to misery

And grit my teeth then swallow complaint

 

Yet once when I was stallion

Tongue loose of mouthpiece and leash

I stalked close by battalions

My days a game of ‘flee the siege!’

The will that swayed our house that age

I scorned and cooed to pity

And crossed the guards with admirable grace

And hoped for title in glory’s committee

 

Not late enough did I discover

My pristine tales were meant as tales

And all the points I scored were smothered

By tombs of gunpowder drenched in ale

 

It was then that I reached for my dog-eared passage

And listed my sins in pants of sorrow

My heart down beaten by cross-print lashes

And eyes quavered to rouse tomorrow

 

I sought the persecutor’s return

In what came next the light of day

And bowls soaked tears of mud and burn

My eyes light bright by angel’s ray

 

I pledged to thank my rescuer

Offered my years if they’d suffice

I knew so little, then, and hadn’t heard

Saved from the fire, doomed to ice

 

You Shall Be Attended to in an Eternity

 

I take my place among the many

Some simple ruler to follow

Adopted by the frequent renegade

A break of lead to sorrow

 

So goes the hours, so runs the days

Sleepless and loud, drives on the craze

A dab of color claims dry and messy

Enough to coat a membered frenzy

 

Does the good doctor not realize we’ve waited too long?

Silent and still our lives drag upon

An unworthy tale of an infamous tune

Trapped in a deluge of welcoming drones

 

In go the life tools, out comes the nurse

Some call out wolf whistles, others converse

Never the matter, all got the same

No mention of how much longer, nor any type of treatment, not even a name!

 

Waiting, still waiting for that special day

Here we make, we do and work for pay

Little did we know, yet little did we pray

That all we were waiting for was another wait

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Publication Date: 10-10-2014

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