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Blighted Angel

When Enough Is Enough...

By Michael GrubePublished 5 years ago 1 min read
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2017-06

With golden-hearted intent, I descend upon mankind.

White wings unfurled; kindness shining forth!

Ready to ease the pain and loose the bonds;

To set sail on a journey from Gentleness's port.

I find the lost, broken, scarred, and damaged.

Souls that have wandered, lost to their own existence.

Not knowing or caring what ego will be rewarded,

The only worry in my heart is curing the pestilence.

A few years pass and some I've helped are grateful,

They turn their eyes and souls towards me with kindness.

Then something begins to creep in, most hateful.

They begin to cry, moan, and again revel in blindness.

Youth begins to waste itself on the young; knowledge on the dumb.

Those that once valued my presence begin to cast me out.

My soul cries and bleeds; exhausted, then becoming numb.

With one final reveille I try my damnedest to shout!

Without anything else to hate they began hating me.

Backbiting, bitter, bitches that hate the light.

A pack of starving wolves that could hunt for free,

They sought to devour the one with the most might.

I turned to Khaos to see if he understood the thoughts;

He laughed and said he understood exactly why,

"These ignorant fools had no idea what they sought,

With nothing more to hate, they would curse the sky;

They were happy with nothing, weren't happy with everything!".

I became the target because I took away the struggle.

I shown a light among them that took away the sting.

Their new found freedom was overwhelming;

I withdrew from humanity to gather my thought.

Attempting to decipher what these ingrates sought,

For years I contemplated how I could help or heal.

Judging for myself what could be fake or real; but

Ultimately, I concluded that humanity was hopeless.

Lost to their insanities and souls of senselessness.

My soul raged in anger I could no longer help,

And in my turn, I destroyed the whelp.

My love for them transformed to hate

As pinning for them began to slate.

Utter destruction was chosen for their fate

And I planned it within my current state.

surreal poetry
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About the Creator

Michael Grube

I am 36 years old, an Army veteran, and officially divorced. I have been writing since i was young and have always been told that I have a knack for it. I've tried my writing a few novels, but my heart lies within poetry and journalism.

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