Warning: Lengthy poem! XD
Here's another poem I just composed this dawn, out of anger and uncontrollable rage that I had to tame and contain within. It's a work with an obvious meaning, not so creative, yet full of passionate wrath that is gradually and evenly released from the heart.
The reason behind this composition needs not be told, for it is clearly stated and neatly elaborated in many of its lines, so without further ado, here is another creation, fresh and new like this morning's rain-kissed dew. ♥
Dear Sir, dear sir:
Shall I kill you now, dear Sir?
Or just watch you die, dear Sir?
For waiting here further and further
might just whirl my decisions astir.
Dear Sir, dear Sir!
How beautiful you doth look like now, dear Sir!
Afraid to die, are we, dear Sir?
Of being beaten or bruised more, dear Sir?
Now wincing in pain, are you, brother?
Oh, but before I do proceed,
would you like a cup of tea?
I shall now prepare some with glee,
as I recall aloud how I have suffered under thee.
Footsteps of dirt, actions since birth:
both beheld from our heartless, old man;
whose else is it, but our father, dear Sir?
A hideous model of absurdity,
a ruthless scoundrel of ambiguity;
a ruffian, a misfit;
a brute, and a savage of numbness;
like mud, he is abhorrent, vague;
however, we wretches, from him were made.
O, how we despised him, dear Sir!
Were we not manipulated, it felt like murder?
Occasionally in a fit of whipping, were we not, dear Sir?
We feared him, discerned him a monster
that owned claws which kept us with his greedy power;
we thrived in meager amounts of love and sincere shelter.
All our years brought us forlorn,
of madness in longing to fly out and soar
while his eyes not fixed on us for a scene of gore,
we rambled in and rambled out
to relish the wondrous beauty we were to live without.
We try a minute or maybe two
to disguise misdeeds we rarely do --
Oh! How dare! Thou but decline my offer of tea?
How about I pour this hot all over thee?
There! How does thine refusal serve thee?
Hush, the sting shan't be for long;
you'll stop breathing before I finish one song.
So where was I, dear Sir, dear Sir?
Have I gone through the things we never
did while he trots about? Ah yes, hear ye:
we grew our separate, silent ways
as you grew colder and far away,
you were prone to his fits of ballistic impulses
to threaten you of riddance those days.
Dear Sir, dear Sir!
I do pity you, dear Sir!
How did it come to your senses,
to follow his example of heartlessness,
and betray me to your heart's content;
caring less of your own growing contempt
of me who had rooted for you bravery,
your soul, and our trampling down of misery?
Had you been less foolish enough,
to follow such unreasonable stupidity,
to make me lose my wits,
my mind, my dignity --
had you not chosen to underestimate me,
to make me succumb unwillingly
to your unruly manifestations of distaste
to me: a poor, young, former crony --
I would not have today done this to thee.
Dear Sir, dear Sir,
why did you choose to humiliate me dear Sir?
Am I such a lowly slut of a sister?
A dumb, pea-brained witch, that you see an idiot of a miser?
Since when did I do you wrong, dear Sir?
Since when did I deserve your overpowering, dear Sir?
Who are you to crush me to the ground, dear Sir?
Why are you resembling the enemy, dear Sir?
Was it fun to berate me, dear Sir --
to yell at me, to mortify me?
Ah yes, I am sorry wicked wretch,
for it is all too late for you to answer:
your explanations, I shan't fetch,
your pathetic apology, Sir,
is now too unacceptable a compensation.
Thus, thou must get ready for a brutal abomination!
Ah, I finished my tea, dear Sir!
I see you've also finished yelping, dear Sir?
How was the hot bath of tea just now, dear Sir?
Swore to silence now, eh, dear Sir?
Or swore to stop breathing forever?
Dear Sir? Dear Sir?
I see you're cold now, dear Sir!
I shall now wrap you with my prepared linens
-- of fresh cottony texture whose deadly color with luminescence
come from hazy fields of where I know not --
to help you be at ease
on your next journey to an intense,
immortally burning, fearful, sulfuric furnace.
Please credit me, by the way, if you wanna copy all or a part of the poem. Thanks. :3
P.S. : NO, I did not murder him! xD Let's just call this poem a product of murderous loathing; it is highly hyperbolic, and is not to be taken and believed literally. :3