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Under the black lights,

Nobody lives, nobody writes

Of life aside the tortured hive

Seen bloody smears from hallowed fights.



Under the black lights:

The targets set to those with whites.

The pure, whose love is slashed above

The bloody drops from ancient fights.



Under the black lights

Hides the dark, dispensing bites

Like candy games to children's names

In bloody lines from sordid fights.



Under the black lights

The evil lives, excites, ignites;

The only one to find its fun

In bloody streaks from wicked fights.



Under the black lights,

Nobody lives, nobody writes

Of all the whites, of all their plights

From bloody darks who end those fights.

I doubt I'll edit this one, but I may add to it, eventually. Started out as a poem about me...I think it still is, just in a different way than I'd intended it to be. Still, the best poems are usually the ones that get away from you. :)





An attempt to be clever

Is no closer than ever

Than ever I’ve witnessed before.



The turning of phrases

Are twisted in phases

Found bottled in pages of lore.



They catch me with tear drops

Before cold-hearted fear mops

The rest of me off of the floor.



The books encompass me

While words, they harass me,

Coax me to beg them for more.





~Sorcha

COMMENTS

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LordWolf
02:56 Jul 27 2009

nice turn of phrase you have there.

~W~

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