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The ugly poet

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An echo, not of this world
Not even an essence of word or sound
But a reflection of a past moment
Best forgotten
Soon a ripple beyond vibration
To never be again.
A shimmer of light
Momentarily genuflecting
Imagination or misconception
More apt delusional.

You thought you heard her whisper
Behind the scream
Of the barren and void
But it was just the wind caressing past the raging fires of angst
In a cesspool of loveless heaves
Embroiling a seething hate
Black tendrils of medusa
She is ugly, too obnoxious to look upon.
Her words the tendrils
Your mind to stone, should you read.



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