So, I know it’s almost the end of the Monday, but I am determined to squeeze this poem in today.
I jotted this down quickly, without thinking about it too much. I think my subconscious took over–either drawing off of an old poem I’ve forgotten about or a dream I had last night. (Who knows?)
Anyways, please enjoy this poem. It is the result of a blitz I just had to get down immediately.
The Heir Paces the Cathedral, Armed with a Silver Spoon // Powdered Sugar Intestines
There’s a greedy heir around what used to be
Sacred—lingering in dark cathedrals’ empty
Intestines only to dissolve good intentions with
Stomach acid inheritance. A second pup to the family
Distorts even the finer silver spoons into a
Puddle. Piddle. Pity.
The air is greedy—the heir breathes it in with a sharp
Snort that hints a blood laced powdered sugar
Was used in the cathedral’s kitchen that morning.
A mourning to outlast all others in a race to be
Pitied the most—pitted against all others in the race
To have the most silver spoons in the cathedral’s
Kitchen. Greed runs in the blood of the heir’s
Ancestors—the same blood that drips and
Drops from the painted portraits down the hall—
Ancestors’ staring eyes under a thin sheen of
Powdered sugar dust. The heir was born with a
Custom made silver spoon but the second pup was too.
The cathedral is not the heir’s, but the heir will
Pace it until a place is reserved not for both him and the pup;
But for him alone.
(The pup will not make it out
Of the portrait-clad intestine winding
through the cathedral—the heir put
Powdered blood on his little
Brother’s silver spoon.)
I hope you liked it! Please let me know what you think of my unfiltered poetry style!
Have a lovely rest of your night!