Artful Purfication

The death is art
And in this hurricane of self pity
We stood by the Altar,
I turned the knob and called your bluff
My ignorance let the fury in the room
And we watched the beast eye us down for the weaker one
Feasting on fear - he grows and hisses
His eyes penetrated my skull and made me feel faint
Infected by the skin I'm in
Purification
I will bleed my youth on the floor
Soaking up what is left of you
Rising up again as an old man.
I don't want to get carried away,
But I am at a loss of words.
With those red eyes peering into my soul
I stumble like a blind man
As I see the truth
And I could hear nothing else
But the grace of God.

Poem by J.A.D. © 2002