by Ken Allan Dronsfield
Although intoxicated within my ethereal madness;
bound within the chains of soulless treason.
I'm desperately in love with this Gothic sadness;
whilst staring into the mists of disheartened reason.
Walking and stalking through the dark rancid streets;
stopping for shots as the pain's finally receding.
Through smoke and crowds; so reverent and discreet.
A bottle to the abyss, heartless and bleeding.
See their frightened eyes view my crumpled prize;
there in the lane of the White Chapel fame.
A gutter splashed with blood and wasted faceless lives;
Feeling not of blame, nor absolved pious shame.
Destiny awaits all that tempt this pattered wraith
from the harbors of doom, to the arches of festoon
stealing of souls from those; a dervish dance
I'm in love with the blood of all devoid of romance.
Muffled be the moans through incised dreams;
Inhaling a mind while exhaling into hell.
Humming in rhyme; of hope and whispered screams.
Clock talks bye, and so should I, pack and leave as well.
KEN ALLAN DRONSFIELD is a Published Poet from Oklahoma. He has been writing for many years and enjoys hiking, playing guitar and spending time with his cats Merlin and Willa. His published work can be found at numerous print venues.
Belle Rêve Literary Journal is a southern literary experience. Our mission is to capture everything that makes the South and its residents unique through the best contemporary literature we can find. We publish new works weekly.
Passionately Ran, Compassionately Fed.