Murder on His Mind

August 10, 2012

On top of him thighs under arm pits Silently stabbing at his flesh of jello Like a fishermen pulling a large hook from A beached whale- With two hands bathing in the warmth of wet crimson- I am filled with life as the other beneath me fades. Its dark, yet there is light. A cross hangs, blood flows- Salvation and extermination. I rise leaving faded foot prints. “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani ?” Photo:Under Ground, Azarel

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Lucian A. Sperta

Published Author and Poet over 25 books in paper back and digital books Selected American Library Association 2015 Model Citizen 2013 Writer of the Month Meridan 1989 American Society of Authors Composers and Publishers since 1994 #8 Hot Top 100 Hot New Release in Poetry #1 Best in Photo Essay Amazon.com Some people think I expose myself too much in what I say in my poems, I don't consider myself a poet as much as I feel I am a story teller, how can one write subjected to other peoples point of view on how I write, what I write, and how I express myself. This is my journey and self expression is how I choose to deal with it; words, writing has been the outlet where I control without fear, without shame, the pen and paper will never betray you. A poet is one, I believe, can take a surgical scalpel to the soul and let it bleed what it truly feels.....

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Comments (1)

jwienerAug 12, 2012

"With two hands bathing in the warmth / of wet crimson" is such a gruesome image, and this poem is written so hauntingly but comes with a message about life and death is around us everywherre, every day.