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THE MACHIAVELLIAN

 
Fragments of the broken mind
Coalescing in gaunt harmony
Reflection shudders in the black
As kisses upon dead foreheads
Beneath timeless halls
Coursing with meek footsteps
Of flagellants and martyrs
Burning the colourful portrait
Of we...
 
 
Wary of influence, secrets are kept
Seldom we sing, lest corpses become
Monuments, where horrid things crept
Darkest parade, yet golden to some
 
 
Of morality smeared away
Of disgust we cannot say
From instruments, we gain
From misery, disdain
 
 
Pale is the ember's final breath
Beyond soiled streets
A whisperer to make death smile
Above hallowed screams
Of this deceit I've had enough
Bore withered roses
The hoarse whimpers sound so vile
When ivory turns to dust
 
 
Sanguine fields, smell of decay
Marched to the prelude
To a drunken bard's delight
Angled towards despair
Lacking the empathy
To mask the joy of pain
Yet callous was he
To laugh in the face of reprieve
Written by UbiquitousVoid
Published | Edited 17th Oct 2016
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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