The Village -- Musician

He woke up in middle of the night
And struck his bow to his fiddle
He woke up all his neighbors
And the babes he wanted to diddle

The sounds emerged weird and strange
Like the sounds of a dying cat
But he was shameless like a whore
And he laid out his hat

On his door, then people banged
Begging him to stop
But he was an aural terrorist
With hair like a dirty mop

"Put coin in my hat
Beer at my door
So I can get my funk
Take your whining asses
To the Mayor
Cuz I don't give a fuck"

The musician was a fool
To fuck with people needing sleep
They ripped him into pieces
And went back to counting sheep

They found his broken fiddle
Right next to his broken bones
The musician was a lonely fucker
And so he died alone

The Village -- Murderer

the children are running through the streets
there is an execution in the great hall tonight
they'll hang the murderer by his neck
to comfort the murdered's plight

they found her body in the sewers
rats had eaten her eyes
the found the murderer in a bar
and they beat the truth from his lies

he had met her on a soft afternoon
they had done things that men and women do
but then the beast had taken over
what then happened was nothing new

he broke her neck in his big hands
then he cried near her corpse
he thought drink would dull his senses
but only murder he spoke

so come, let's go to the big hall
mother father brother all
let's watch that sister fucker hang
his sin is big, but punishment small

we'll cut his corpse to pieces
defile it in ways unimaginable
he'll pay for his sins in afterlife
after all, we're all animals

--
New series of poems. Will be writing on this in between regular poems. This is the first, there are more planned.

As always, thanks for reading.

Whorl

he was but a man
freed by a dreamy mess
the ringing war cry
of a man born in darkness

this one man is awake
while the others sleep
he is blind like all of them
but he can still see

he can see in his mind's eye
the color of the sounds
he can see the shades of death
and the poison in the sky

what woke him up was a dream
of his tongue stuck in a hole
a hole that dripped and squelched
as he tried to drink it all

the clear water, the catalyst
the pool of life, the whorl
that spun and spun, like a third eye
pulling him away from whispered lies

---
Whorl (2 of 3)

spiral

far away in a field made of gold and green
girls with butterflies in their hair pick up dreams
swollen with desire and fallen on the ground
they bite into each dream and pass them around

thick dream juice coats their mouths and chins
they giggle with joy and their laughter starts to sing
fingers dripping with the ichor, they lick the digits dry
overwhelmed with joy some of them even start to cry

these girls with butterflies in their hair
they're addicted to dreams and they simply don't care
where the dreams come from, to whom they belong
they just want the dream juice, they long for its song

beneath the earth in cryo-chambers, an army of men sleeps
kept alive by technology, a thousand machines beep
their eyes plucked from sockets, fucked up and drugged
they dream of the day when they will be unplugged

--
Spiral (1 of 3)