The Golden Age of Grotesque

by mier   Nov 2, 2007


Sordid karma for her blasphemy,
sculpt these delusions that she has seen.
Inane memories of lost heresy,
floats in the skeleton of the wind.

A catastophe that maim her face,
cradling regret from morbid eyes.
A soul that hides behind pure white lace,
hiding fear as a defense for disguise.

A mental mephisto clouds her heart,
to masticate their trite sympathy.
As her face and her beauty estranged,
her whole life changed in a tragedy.

She wore a mask of wounded mortal from,
curious gazes with insults to protest.
A medieval knot of denial,
trapped in the golden age of grotesque.

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Latest Comments

  • 17 years ago

    by Nix

    Wow, honestly this piece takes breath away. It is just so good, I absolutely love everything about the way you wrote it, word choice is also so powerful and atmosphere that you created amaze me, very deep and truly dark. Ending line is also so effective, and you did superb job with rhyming in this piece, personally, I don't know to write poems with rhyming but you did that amazingly, once again. Well done, I so enjoyed reading this poem.

  • 17 years ago

    by NyellMoonlight

    Wow, wow... So breathtaking...
    Every stanza is excellently written. You impressed me with imagery that you created through this amazing poem. Whole piece is so unique, with superb wording, and greatly created dark atmosphere.
    I love your writing style, I'm going to add you to my favorites list.
    Keep writing!
    5/5 from me

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