No memories from sharp edges
shall chisel this wax heart,
or clog these frantic veins.
Peace will find the circus
and flame,
and in the End a wild boy
with carnival binges
will know Silence.
Every devil must beat tantrums
and quiet days be known.
The last pain
a final coffin nail,
the last of the last.
All fever
every bone of trauma
meets its End
come sunny days.
Fury is a frail god
to the emblem of horror,
sometimes there is thunder in mice
and calm.
The unbreakable weak.
No more days of glass
should there be,
or blood whispers.
As sober as graveyards
the boar must find comfort
in a cotton babylon.
In serenity
must the monster find
its bed.
Wild dawns must be forgotten,
angels do not carry
the burden of Sin very well.
Hairy antics bruise their milk
and loaded herbs shatter clarity.
When the bomb is dropped
bad sores will scatter
disappearing into mud,
and riot shall have a new halo...
@Steven Francis poems 2008
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