Fall From Grace

 

Floating lights behind my eyes
Thudding pain, pressurized
Wholly sick of coloured lies
Called out loud in honeyed cries

Sink ye further in the pits
Of blackened tar you did dig
Let it glue your puckered lips
Quieten your lies laid on thick

Slick with oil is your voice
But lo, black one, you made your choice
Yet there you stand and make your noise
And think you safe upon your hoist

But come a day you will know
On that day you’ll fall low
And eat the fruits of seeds you sowed
Your fall from grace will sure be slow

©Aarron Mondello
1/4/2018

 

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