Ischaemic Hands

Writing was never easy to come
Knocking my hemispheres there it was
Lurching around that broken plexus
It wouldn’t have stayed put
For my heart always is beating
Rehearsing those old learned chords
It definitely moved to different place
Where it could find solace
Time to think and mend the lines
Of those archaic ideas and thoughts
Gushing from the top, it soaked
My air sacs with tumult and roar
Odorous and filthy was the breath
Rummaging through those spaces
It ran down to the corpulent paunch
Where it guttered, and felt the hunger
The Desire to feed the flesh anew
Farting it came out of the bog
Rushing to the feet so pristine
It stayed and waited…
To seek respite from the task at hand
And soon realized that it overleaped hands
Alas! the writing was never easy
Especially when the hands go ischaemic.

Blessed Evil

What pity brought her here?
Standing on this lifeless death row
Howling unrestrained of the left soul
She longed for that last breath
Pain, Sorrow, Misery she could master
But there’s now a departure that awaits her
Loneliness surrounds this hour
Hearing those bitter sounds of the darkness
She talks to the light of shadow
Now that the walls of her bower
Are seen closing in about her
Deserted and detested she walks
Hooded and cloaked amidst those nights
Disguised as the crone of the devilry
Sneaking and haunting through our time
Rumors of evil grew in with her
Whispers of the nameless fear
She couldn’t have carried this for long
She stayed with evil, belonged to bless
Wouldn’t have imagined this fate
Thinking of that good and green past
Dark have been her dreams of late
She strayed out of her thought
Lingered on with this cruelty and malice
Until all the world had changed and
Long years of her life were utterly spent
She would hate and love herself
Would never get rid of her deed
She did had a part to play for good or ill
Though the time for her was over
For now she must decide the indecisive
Either embrace the wickedness of this evil
Or embrace her own destruction!