Spilled ink – Page 50 – A (wise) man of two faces

Mighty meat

Sweet, juicy burger,
you are oh-so bad for me –
now get in my mouth.

Clouds sweep the blue sky,
the brushwork of a master
with an unknown name.

Summer ice
feels so nice,
melting and cooling me,
fighting the humidity.

Winter rain
is such a pain;
it freezes thin
into a slipper skin.

The Fall is bright
with verdant lights
dressing up in varied shades
for one last autumnal promenade.

And Spring is marked anew with flowers
rumored for their amorous powers.

Tiny little drops,
the misting advance guard of
the impending storm.

I gave the stars a name,
to most they seem the same
but each has their grace
and their own unique face
with no trace of shame.

The storm is coming,
black clouds on the horizon
herald a false night.

The summer runs down
my face, chest, under my clothes;
I’m saturated.

In the dark of the night
when I’ve just had a fright
I grasp my palms
and reach for a calm.

I get down on my knees
and my lips spill with pleas.
I promise it all
just to survive the fall.

But when those prayers fail
when the gods are deaf to my wails
it’s then I begin
to confess all my sins.

In desperate hopes my penance
will prove enough for recompense.

I don’t get people;
they have so much promise but
they cannot see it.

Break my heart, will you?
I don’t care, it’s
Too late for another
Chance to make things right.
Honestly, you don’t deserve it.