DIABOLICAL

Okay, so this one is from an often referred genre of my writing called angst. Hope it helps some people connect with their own existential angst. As always, comments are welcome.

Diabolical.

I do not have the monopoly on wrath

But I can cut a fair share of revenge on the world.

I make no deals with death here, 

But I've seen enough people play poker with their lives.

Of all the violence I've seen women's bodies carry 

There is none worse than that of a shattered silence.

In the marketplace of perverse pleasures

where each man delves into his personal hell

and each woman into her impossible fantasy,

where pain and loss are currency to be carried but never spent,

and love always inherited not earned.

choice smells of destiny's cards 

and Tarot seems a better predictor of Change than Talent.

There, in that diabolical world I bear witness to 

the poetry of what is called humanity

it is not sunshine and daisies and beautiful rivers,

mountains nor forests that we take inspiration from anymore.

Hell, if only we could see them once in a while we could remember,

what a human being was supposed to create instead of destroy.

It hurts to bear our legacy, in the heaviest of sense,

we die by slow poisoning in our own cages made of gold,

A slip, a tremor, a trip or a drip, fatal errors of living -

Thus does life end.

But Human must make His-Story count,

For the diabolical world does not go round,

it goes in spirals with or without meaning 

And the slip or a trip can push you off center.

Can you find yourself again?