it is a stage, an arena for the drama

of love, of lust, of death, of lukewarm

pain mingled in the milk that you sip

every night, licking the remnant mirth

that which still remains in tears of Pompeii

ash, ash, ash, I see ash, I kiss sublime art

of the fates, renewing with every birth

arriving with scars one can not erase,

one can see how it streamed, the lava

ravishing every sinew, skin and shirt,

it is a stage, an arena, above and under,

where past reels its role in the blessed lore


For Oloriel’s Poetry Prompt at We Drink Because We’re Poets, where the task is to write a reverse acrostic using one of the words suggested.

Image source



The evolution of a being

from the childhood’s reverie

to a grown up’s veracity

from the glimmer of the stars

to the blaze of the sun

from a small injury

to a large gaping wound

from an innocent vision

to a gruesome deed

from the world of truth

to the universe of tall tales

from a fresh water lake

to the ever salty ocean

from the protection of the nest

to the vast lonely sky

from a seed that is sown

to a pest infected plant

from the drop of nectar

to an urn of venom,

the evolution of an infant

to a grown up soul

tarnished by world

shaded by emotions

from the afternoon nap

to the insomniac nights

from the playful toys

to the killer weapons,

there is an evolution

a real evolution

of a spirit as he turns

from a joyful mirth

to an evil sneer in the end.

* Written in response of Theme Thursday Writing Prompt.