The Bruised Muse And The Butterfly

The bruised muse

Hissed soul steamed escape

Before tree finger marauders

Pierced his dried up dreams’s reedy spine

And noosed charity’s crystal cracked neck

Into a violent pearled burst

Dividing glum gold spoils

To black dog troughs

Second rate ingrates

And the hoodwinked anarchist parade

Marching through strangled forests

The bruised muse

Watches the lead hearted raiders

Clap freewheeling heels

The kinetic chaos

A ludicrous marvel of steel willed vanity

Pushing prostituted trust’s bladed menace

Through sunken wildflower weed valleys

Ousting in fist hammered defiance

The bruised muse’s spectating specter

While vampiric Judas Iscariots

Drain stained glass blood

From the muse’s broken swan neck palace

The turncoat fellowship

Gloating cloven dagger flame

Through sacred parchment

The tarry blizzard

Set to burn and forget

His bliss kissed sweet nothings

Swallowed through tongue torched surrender

To the betraying void

The frayed and dethroned king of fantasia

Exiting breathlessly

Holding onto the disintegrating wing

Of his flailing butterfly queen

As the scorching house of cards

Carries ash scarred tragedy

And lung blistered chokehold

Across a psalmist anchorage

Blackened and razed

The once harmonized sanctum

Poisoned by pride’s weighed scales

Tipped towards self anointed demigods

And so the thorn clipped muse weeps thunder

And her nailed feet mete out lightning stabs

Across night’s everlasting funeral

Though their ears are plugged tunnels

And their eyes stitched bound and blind.