A man lies seated with tears brimming his eyes,
Hands and feet tied behind him,
Mouth, taped over;
He is being forced to watch,
Yet do or say nothing,
Before him, lady justice is being molested,
Look closely:
In his tears,
You can see the death of liberty,
That fan the embers of anarchy.
The bad boy you liked,
Trouble had a knack of finding him
His tattoos,
You had a habit of tracing with your expertly manicured nails – you must’ve done it a 1000 times,
As he whispered the story behind each one
Secrets, he shared that said he trusted you above others,
Made you feel very special
You got accustomed to his piercings,
Nestling against your body in that way they did
Intoxicated by his caresses,
He became your addiction,
Your one good deed,
That thrilled you to repeat
Doing time, while he was inside;
Felt like you were in prison too
Loyalty, he demanded,
Which you had no qualms about
Though if you were honest,
Your eyes rested a little longer than they should:
On the thoroughly decent man across the road
Bland he may have been,
But at least he was there
You found yourself inviting him in,
And found trouble and mischief had infected you as well
Self-pity makes you forget the consequences,
Until your senses returned
And you had to admit:
The bad boy had made you into a bad girl,
Without you knowing it
You had left too many marks on the good man across the road,
For your indiscretions to be completely unnoticed by his wife,
To slowly corrupt the happiness that they had had,
And, you liked that you had
Except, you forgot that the bad boy you had liked
Was not the forgiving type,
And, underestimated the lengths a scorned wife would go
To settle scores for impertinence sakes
A recipe that does not bode well for a bad girl trying to cover up an indiscretion;
Or, an otherwise dull man sitting on a large family inheritance,
With a sociopath for a wife in disguise laying in wait,
To seize on any excuse to trigger an early windfall.
Folding hands like origami,
In movements mimicking,
Combination of yoga and martial artistry,
‘Kung fu’ is what they call it,
But that is not what it means.
Great plains,
Frozen lakes,
Dirt-smeared faces,
Crawling on all fours,
Pledging fealty,
In both fear and desperation;
To he who occupies,
The raised dias,
Great King of Kings,
Kubalai Khan!
The eternal blue sky’s mandate to conquer,
He inherited,
The diversity of his empire,
He embraced,
Through the prism of violent barbarity of his culture,
He enforced his authority
Throughout eternity does his deeds echo,
And the cog that turns the myth into legend,
Is studded with savage barbs,
To scar and bloody any who venture near,
For all time.
Tinkerbell’s envy has turned vengeful,
She’s taken slow-acting cyanide,
And has bloody murder on her mind,
Now with wings splattered with Peter’s blood,
She has Wendy in her sights,
A voice called out, Run, Wendy! RUN!
As Tinkerbell caught up with Wendy,
And watched her life ebb and flow away,
With grim satisfaction in her eyes,
She remembered to whom that voice belonged,
And realised she wouldn’t find the love she longed after even in the afterlife,
Tinkerbell closed her eyes for the final time,
And her body collapsed to the ground next to Wendy’s, lifeless.
Her body can form any shape she wants it to,
She knows the ones that turn you on,
Teasing you,
Till you can’t take no more,
‘Cause she’s playing the long con,
To make you blow your entire load!
Swimming beneath the surface of clear blue turquoise waters,
The gentle current above casting a muriel of sunlit patterns, up and down the length of you;
As you emerge carrying a conch shell picked up trawling the seabed,
More pebbles of sea water seem to hang onto your sun kissed bikini body,
Choosing to melt away than let go;
Like the attention of passers by,
Everything seems to have second thoughts letting go of you!
Can’t blame ’em:
It’s like watching a rare natural phenomenon;
You’ve turned this borderline saint into a full-fledged sinner with that body,
And I’d take a pass on a eternity of heaven,
To have another go on the merry-go-round with you,
She’s like the finest ice cream you’ve ever tasted,
With every look and smile cast your way, like biting into chocolate bits,
Would you give up chocolate to reserve your place in heaven?
I didn’t think so!
Horror show reveals,
Blood-spattered consequences,
Every mad man has a madder version of themselves out there,
This one carries a barbed-wire encased baseball bat called ‘Lucile’;
The widow-maker!
Brutal wrecker of bone ‘n’sinew into pulp !
The crushing end!
Preceded by a showy extol of this baptism of fire;
That it is for a far greater purpose!
For the mad man is ultimately a showman,
With something of a car salesman about him!
He knows he must lead his band of miscreants by savage example,
For, when every form of violence is part of a daily, staple diet,
Both the living and the dead should learn to fear him and Lucile, most of all;
And, you are about to be set an example!
A ghost of a swallow on a perch,
Dark lining on a silver cloud,
See emotion drawing nearer and closing in around you like a noose,
Bringing with it the realisation for a erstwhile leader of a band,
Brought literally to his knees and facing an imminent fatality:
Your pride got us here;
Hubris, in other words,
You forgot that every action has a reaction:
Well, it is about to prove fatal to one of yours,
However will you cope with that burden now?
Submerged in a sea of barbaric violence for so long:
You thought you’ve been broken so many times before, you were immune to the pain by now,
You were wrong.
For a man is a parasite that is sustained by human bonds,
And you are about to have the equivalent of an arm deliberately crushed and rendered unusable,
To serve as a sorry reminder,
For you ‘n’ yours, and everyone else besides…
To remember:
Death carries a scythe, and Negan has Lucile!
Whispers of the wind,
Carry across chasms,
Leaving lines etched on folds of sand,
Marking out the relief of dunes,
Steps, carved out in the shape of sand-snakes,
Traversing vast deserts;
Bearing imprints of the echo,
Left by the cries of the earth,
Leaving their mark,
Like reverberations of experience,
Casting lines of wisdom to adorn your face,
Gradually increasing their relief,
As you age.