Wednesday, March 29, 2006

I might be a nutcase, but I'm one hell of a writer

Is the best compliment I've received in years. I haven't gotten much positive feedback since I wrote "Grumbles for the Grave with Dante," and that was a long time ago.

Grumbles for the Grave with Dante

I cannot be so frigid,
Detached from what's around me
With deep and icy veins
Exposed to only me.

The fury is my heart.
The tempest is my voice.
No glacier is my passage;
There's magma on my way.

The fire burns inside me,
Relentless in its torment.
It scorches shut the wounds
Cut deep by liar's stares.

Don't tell me to relax;
Ten long breaths can't stop me.
I don't need any space
Or time to know the score.

So slash me out, I'm gone.
I cannot turn as cold
To freeze just like the rest.
I'll sooner burn in hell,

And laugh along the way.
With Dante as my guide,
The eighth ring is between
My torment, and worse: yours.

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