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You’re everything that I thought I’d never be.
I see in you, what I thought I would never see.
You are the epitome of all things I hold dear to me.
You speak the words that I thought I’d never hear.
You hold the touch that strips away my fear.
And I don’t remember why it took me so long.
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C. Allen Thompson – 2002
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I’m Awake.
Chained by the twisted and fettered coils of benediction.
Revived only to wither and disparage those around me as they turn a blind eye.
Or do they merely ejaculate to disorder and lies?
Another mongering emperor with his twisted desires of semantic vengeance, peers over his slaves.
The recreant senate, whom through the blatant ulteriors, leads its pawns toward an already mated king.
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C. Allen Thompson – 2005
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War: narcotic of the malevolent.
Aphrodisiac to the impure.
Reward of treacherous mutiny.
Betrayal of all. Not just an end, but a means.
Like the theocratic monarchies of yesterday.
Over the maniacally slaughtered remains of those who defy ignorance.
Openly eviscerating those who would not deify them.
Dream I, that one day the weak shall not dominate the strong.
Behold: the new messiah of tyranny.
Upon his talons rests the blood of the innocent.
Surrounding those few, those without bended knees.
Honor will die with us.
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C. Allen Thompson – 2005
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Poupée danseuse her prancing falls to the maiden voyage of uncertainty.
Poupée danseuse to the laughter of all, where reason becomes most violent.
To the night’s cooling shade, hidden away.
Cursed to stay from the light of the day.
Their dreams packed away, marionettes not for play.
Blessed to stay from the light of the day.
Poupée danseuse pleading they call, to the fingers above to bring them to life.
Poupée danseuse begging they crawl, to the fingers above to bring them to life.
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C. Allen Thompson – 2012
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Licking my wounds; clenching my fists.
Crawling back to you.
I remember when you were someone who could do it for me.
Someone who could get me off.
There’s a maggot in you that I just want to burn.
Watch you coil and die.
I remember when you were the maggot in me.
Now you’re just a toy.
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C. Allen Thompson – 2004
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She is the sun rising o’er an eastern, dawning sky
She is the wisp rising from a blackened nocturnal necropolis
She is a deadly storm beneath an ecumenical shroud of grey
She is the benevolent rainbow illuminating the earth when all is calm
She is all powerful
Ne’er broken nor bent
Death and life
Resurrection of purity
Aria of black
She is the ebony muse whispering words of war to the unseen tyrant
She is the luminous angel seeding purity into nature’s rebirth
She is entropy and all that shall know not the power of peace
She is balance and all that which shall never know the hands of chaos
She is everything
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C. Allen Thompson – 2003
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You’ve become void. Your eyes show no light and your smile brings tears. As your heart continues to darken, remember me. Remember my touch. Was it as black as yours?
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C. Allen Thompson – 2012
It’s the cool wind of the night that hears my whispers;
that carries my words into the faint haze of the stars, hidden beneath an opaque blanket of clouds.
By the faint and yellow light of streetlamps, I sit on cleared stone.
Its frigid touch reminds me that I feel, even without empathy. Even without sympathy.
It’s the brisk wind of the night that cools my hands as the suburban city light surrounds me, denying entrance to the darkness of night.
Though cold, its warmth is like the warm embrace of a lover, the sweaty touch and moist lips that caress my skin.
In the night is where I feel the very touch that reminds me I’m alive.
It reminds me I must watch others through my struggles so they too can know what I feel at this moment.
A tear to know happiness; a wound to know comfort; the brisk wind of the night, to know the soothing warmth of day.
Subtly, I fade, so that I may shine tomorrow.
A Carnival of Fables 