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The Iron Pile - More Dopeness....
IP:
This may be one of my best yet...
THE IRON PILE
“I never knew our effect, of the seconds she captivated the attention of magic,
but sadly none of us can see past the tragedy foreseen by the legend of the tragic.
I wrote this as my confession, but never knew I’d stand at her horrid sepulcher,”
The adolescent read from the plaque of twisted metals standing for her sculpture.
It stood on two legs, ‘n stared deep into her eyes that reflected its wisdom,
two opposite sides but just because the path of evolution’s twisted schism.
His ancient ebony necklace around his neck, the crucifix blessing her flesh,
Plus a rope and the hope and the drumming as he was held to her breasts,
were the signs of companions forever, the amulets and crosses connected,
yet on that one momentous occasion, she noticed the leash, slightly shredded
Befuddled, she turned to face the streets, saw a trail of blood on concrete,
That goes to show the hope and the rope twisted and beaten at her feet..
The girl heard the whimpers, shivered with a sudden rush of forlorn logic,
the type of hype emanating from the spontaneous burst of our knowledge.
Her throat knotting, she took hesitant steps to peer into this dark crevice,
‘n momentarily felt the tongue of a supernatural beings departing presence.
At that second, dismay flooded her veins to abolish the pains with hatred,
for defiling the sacred that originated the satiated beings of Earth’s matrix.
Here was man’s best friend, sprawled with broken limbs on a pile of rubble,
with the murderers not understanding the capability of remaining subtle…
but with this blood puddle, molded the perfection of a desperate attempt;
she could no longer contain the insane rage that she had until now kept.
“He was not man’s best friend, but he was mine, for it was man that killed,”
her eyes and her cries so depressed that it could made a convicts blood chill.
An old lady stood at the window sill, baking pies and amused at the cold,
laughing jovially, so much so that the wrinkles on her face began to fold.
The adolescent ignored her, thought only of the monster that haunted her,
entertained ideas that Death toyed with the fact of how he so wanted her.
But now was the time to surrender, she was defeated, no longer so tired,
and took a few steps into the alley, up the pile of rusty nails and old iron.
The dog leash fell from her pocket, and she picked it up, saw its collar…
ran her hands along it, and could still feel the sticky substance of slobber.
She tore a finger on a nail, scratched her words in to the alley’s asphalt,
Then ringing invaded her ears…then it was as someone turned sound off.
“Here’s a little poem to my killer, who is not myself…
Here Bobby, here’s the remains of me and my doggy,
I guess torturing us was supposed to be your favorite hobby.
Regret this forever…this letter is just more blood you spilt,
tally up the numbers…now how many people have you killed?”
Bobby read this, not so drastic because of this legend of the tragic;
He was not to be hung from the gallows, to be eaten by the maggots.
Bobby saw the corpse, sprawled beside the remnants of her friend…
Having died of asphyxiation, the leash wrapped tightly around her neck.
He whispered, “Dude, you never even got to know the whole truth.
All I did was take the dog off its leash…
It was just looking for you.”
Based on a True Story... |