Flowers of Strife



Fear is an anvil

That fashions

Of vulnerability a carapace

In these fierce designs

Anger festers as contempt

With oil slicks

Of cancerous blood


Obscured by darkness

My vision

Can see only deception

A future cast

In the decapitated shadows

Of regret

I ache before

I can be undone

In your malicious hands


These brimstone kisses

Flowers of the forge

Scalding on assembly

These relics of affection

Backhanded rage

Screaming on delivery


All our memories

Have become malignant.

In each other’s eyes

We are cruel

Capable of any atrocity

And what we accuse

Is far more vicious

Than any placement

Of furrowed hands

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6 responses to “Flowers of Strife

  1. the first three lines have hook…and our fear does make armor…to protect us but it can rob us as well…again with the pain…the malicious memories…and words that hurt far more than hands…

  2. I loved it, the opening line had me. I was thinking about writing a poem about an hammer striking an anvil, hoping to forge, willing to bend, temper the mind full of madness.

    I am enjoying your site, thanks for looking around mine.

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