Tuesday, 11 March 2014

Paint, Blood and The End

I prefer the setting sun, when the clock nears the end
To the rising one, full of uncertain promise,
When you don't know the beginning from the middle;
Where the day will go, you are unaware.

The setting sun is a symbol of everything good
In a world where nothing is certain;
Because promises are lies, and embellished truths,
Realized only by coincidence.

I prefer the void of leaving someone
To the impatient beginning of relationships
When people are full of energy and trust,
When all there is can be lost forever.

I prefer painful, heartfelt words
To poems that will render me happy.
For there is truth in only one of them,
And poems can easily be taken away.

I am yet to meet a malevolent person,
Which is why there isn't, I am certain,
The need to doubt the intentions of a man
Who leaves you bloodied and brutalized.

I prefer sweat and blood to conditioned hair,
Wrinkled skin to the pale white cream,
Ignorant men to the preachers of this world;
I want your face, not your mask.

The closure in the evening West
Makes the day worth living again;
Misery will end and so will happiness,
And you will fall asleep to wake up again.

Endings are more glorious than the start,
Because there is closure in the finishing line.
There are no chasms, there are no peaks,
There is the end and nothing else.