A Kid Named Fear

Time to answer the mirror's shrill cry,
where even bones of warriors
grieve for time's sharp exit
despite the wolds shaping the hammer of Gods.
Awake to shadow,
follow footsteps of the great scythe man,
stay sharp for nothing skips his icy gaze.
Silence, a worthy ally.

Firebird, take to thy wings
bring another soul to morgue town.
A full harvest, fit for mouners
dressed in sombre rags.
We know it well this dying caper,
know it better than our aged skin,
this flesh which hides so many crafty schemes.

Stretch the pose before you go,
one last go at life,
a last of this, last of that.
Then home to the crusty hole,
oh how Eden grows for weepers.
Meet End,
end meet life for a final grainy burial

Regret not, fear little,
that empty date which follows birth
isnt shaped to shake the frail,
or marked to crush the fatal sick.
Numbers,
digits of no order which need no script
to play the audience.

No equals nothing,
no for no;
men of hoods and guns,
of blades and viper words ~
every heart be it mad or virtuous
knows the track to ruin.

And yet not all die.
Not all will look through maggot eyelids
and feel their nails wilt.
Shut away the doom boys,
rip them from tiger roots to feed sharks,
perhaps honest creatures exist afterall...

©Steven Francis poems 2014

Stray Child

You stay bold as oak
and plant petals on babies heads,
loving life as if it ever loved you.

I remain wild on the graveyard shift
stomping on slow insects and seeing truth
from every jellied corpse under my dirty heel.

A stray child
a feral on wolf street;
stray forever
because honest hearts don't care
for loose blades,
or poison kisses.

You keep well
stay decent,
never tempted by the bilious ivy
which conned me of the only life
we cloth servants are given.

Keep true gaijin
no stray child you...

©Steven Francis poems 2014

For Children Lost Who Never Lose

I see you shyly smiling
beyond the piano's print
glowing in the sky,
spinning at words shaped for only you,
you that was taken too young
but still lives on in hearts and memories
and the tindr box steps of life a new.
Each step, each breath is you
echo fontanelle,
never lost at all,
babes in arms from summer to fall...

©Steven Francis poems 2014

Sunrise over Rigor Mortis

Slender, as night is long~

butcher, undertaker
corpse dolly soul shaker.
Shred the applause
and awards for hope lost
in ages demon flow,
shush them sugary glitter spinners,
order 'em all to good hell.
No need for small dicks
in minnow holes,
crowned by eager satchel maids.
Grim vcation
or postponed portraits
that lead to masturbation.

Bless
Pearl vipers will come when all is done
(and said in
when the wait is over,
bribe skinless hoardes
and words igored by drainpipe friends
will flash before fading sight.

Modern life
murder shaped into a holy word...

©Steven Francis poems 2014