A Taste of Blood

2 Comments

A Taste of Blood

I look outside my window again

Seeing meaning in my desolation,

I paid too high a price for being

Strangled by my infatuation;

 

I’m caught in a whirlwind of

Rage that I cannot comprehend,

There is no mercy in the eyes of

The people that I call my friends;

 

I couldn’t change the turmoil of your past,

Why did you take it out on me?

Every time I grab a hold of something

Fresh someone stops me from flying free,

Maybe it’s me;

 

I see you running, crying away,

Afraid of the love you’re leaving behind,

You don’t understand your fears,

Your freedom is what makes you blind;

 

I was ready to die for you,

I tried to kill for you,

There was nothing I wouldn’t have

Done to show my love so true,

I would have wet my hands with his

Blood if you wanted me to,

Death breathed hot upon my neck

But my love was too strong;

The world around me was

Engulfed in a killing flame,

I would’ve taken a bullet in the head

Just to protect you from the blame,

You were the vagabond spirit that

Made my restless heart seem tame,

I laid my love before you even

Though I knew it was wrong;

 

I’ve had to fight so long to

Hold on to these empty hands

And still the winds of change

Blow these drifting sands;

 

Death told me that I could

Run and try my best to hide

But some dark night we’ll dance

Together under that dark moonlight;

 

I’ve learned that silence can be

The greatest speaker of them all,

Strong men deny what is a part

Of life and hard they do fall;

 

I’ve learned from the ignorant and

Will someday be their master,

I will only need to stand strong once

As the worlds death looms faster;

 

How can I be patriotic when I’m

So disillusioned by the truth?

I see a vision of beauty while

Being chased by whores so uncouth,

I gave an eye and lost an eye,

Bit my feeding hand and lost a tooth,

Now I’m flailing in the darkness

Of my mental masturbation;

So I opened the door to

My locked room of hate,

I wanted to change my past but

My muse said it was too late,

She said turn around and ride the wind

Away from your past and your fate,

I went to embrace her but was

Beaten back into my isolation;

 

There’s a man I want to meet and

Strangle the life from his body

Because when he should’ve been

Acting nice, he was acting naughty;

 

I cannot help but write of these

Swirling thoughts of death,

I dream of it for many people

As I take every mortal breath;

 

To step on someone’s head and

Crack the skull underneath,

Where are those villains hiding

That don’t deserve to breathe?

 

The stars are covered by clouds at night

When the dark one visits my sleep,

It is myself I run from as I have no

One to pray to for my soul to keep;

 

How long must we live these lies

That make up an excuse for life?

Pan discarded his pipes and now

Plays death tunes on a fife,

Why break my heart with love when

I can impale it with a knife?

The mirror before me shows

A lost world with no vanity;

I see a beautiful young woman who

Is too young to be a mother,

Evil lives on as lovers continue

Fleeing from one another,

A woman made me bleed because

She knew there was no other,

Loves blade drips wet with the

Illusion of my sanity . . .

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poetheart87 commented on A Taste of Blood

11-08-2009

You do have a very interesting style. Some of your word choices bringsstrong images, and your emotions fill in the blanks. Your poetry is beautiful.

mamasan commented on A Taste of Blood

10-17-2009

It's obvious Dylan you have a way with words. I enjoyed reading your piece of poetry and it makes me think a lot; some of your thoughts are profound. If, in fact these thoughts painted on paper are truly close to your experience in life.........I say Dylan......chalk it up to experience and "move on" and have faith you can lead a life as you would see it. Yes, you can.......we do learn from our past if we really take a look and listen. Your answers are right inside you Dylan and I wish you the best. Move on......very much like the pioneers did.

Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

dylandean’s Poems (32)

Title Comments
Title Comments
Frustrations 7
I Hate Everybody 5
Hibernation Blues 3
Voodoo Blues 4
For the Love of a Woman 3
A Study of Faith 1
Love Bloody Love 2
Mathilda The Hun 2
No Mercy 1
The Sick and the Dead 1
Picture Me Naked 0
Muse of the World 0
Lights From Space 0
Afterbirth 1
Forgive Me Not 4
Five Card Wink 1
The Outlaw Trail 2
Mystery of a Woman 8
Endless 2
Flower Bed 1
Oceans of Time 1
Reflection 0
A Taste of Blood 2
The Earthling 3
Winter Rain 4
Death Therapy 2
She Used To Be Mine 1
Whispering Sky 0
Comforter 2
Mustang 2
Whispers of a Dream 2
A Taste of Death 6