Theater Of Flesh

Delicate paper lips call gently to me only to burn in the fire

How dare they look me straight in the face and call me a liar

I'll shake the pillars of heaven and turn god's face away

Even the devil has to bow to one such as me on this day

For i am the one true king of fools, a prince among clowns

The fairest of damsels come to see me crash and go down

This is a one time true event, a gala of my simple shame

The line it goes for miles to have a piece this cheap fame

A hushed silence over headstones, in the spot light a broken man

No curtain call on this spirit of vengeance, hatred my only plan

No encore of delegations only the roar of the masses in my fold

The lambs of slaughter ask not for glory, but of forgiveness so bold

By, Shannon A. Rhoten

Savage Heart

Don't stop whispering in my ear

You soothe the savage beast

You give off rhythmic heart beats

This thumping, bumping in my brain

My blood boils and i think of oils

Spread on a body of water known as you

You keep me afloat in a sea of despair

Forever we dance on air

Like love birds in flight

people give their lives to see such sights

Yet you give to me freely in dreams

Of whip cream clouds and fallen angels

Is it a sin to think of you so much

Yet i defy the Gods for just one touch

Of whispering skin and plucking heart strings

Oh but how it stings, these birds and bees

You drop me to my knees my graceful deity

With your playful teasing and smiles

So i'll just rest here for awhile

Wrapped within your warm embrace

But here, again my heart begins to race

And it all starts with that

Whispering in my ear.

Tickled Pink

I wanna dance on broken glass!
I've heard this line before,
It makes me laugh.
Tickled pink
Blushing and bruised
I just want to be
Abused and misused
Misguided and fooled
Like the masses
Put into classes
If they ice skated on blood
They would fall on their asses
Hence the broken glass
Dancing and laughing

From the soapbox

Ripped from the womb we are thrust out in to this world.
With smart looking clothes and slicked down hair.
So professional with our bright eyes and dimples a glow.
It almost brings hope to the faded eyes of the old and infirm.
So magical a sight, it's almost wrong to hold in my glee of this suspenseful moment.
When you see those bright eyes scratched out by the horrors of this world
The fragile psyches' shattered on the brick hard desperation in everything.
For even the rich man doubts him self when put to the ultimate question.  Why?

If i traveled thousands of miles only to come to the ground zero of all pain and suffering.
Only to find one small sickly flower of hope blooming, there fighting for it's life.
I would feed it all the tears of the dammed and forsaken, praying for an answer.
But no God will here these words, for this prayer is for you, you, you and you. All of you!
Let not this world go from your grasp, fight for what you know to be right in your hearts.
But can we tell what is right anymore?
To many wants for personal gain, to many opinions just to be heard.
Hate trumping love and not caring about the consequences?!  NO!

Are the children i see lined up for the future or are they just more meat for the slaughter?
Wake up oh world, wake up and feel the life you have been given.
Honor, justice, peace and unity; these are my battle cries!
Let not these ideals die on the lips of children.
Let not their future be our end.

Plasma Painter

There is blood on the wall
But whose it is, no one knows
Not a splatter or a drip
Rather a desperate smear

As if the one bleeding were trying to run away
Fleeing to escape the cutter of flesh
You can see this in the finer tip trails along the wall
You can taste the fear in the air

Like phantoms moving in smoke
Like faded film from forgotten movies
They play back the violence of this scene
They show that art truly is sacrifice and loss

Let us now begin this, shall we?
Just the quickest of cuts my love
and with but a few brush strokes
There is blood on the wall

Shhh, do you hear that?

I hear a buzzing sound.
No scratch that, I feel it too.
Buzzing throughout my entire being.
Loud yet soft rippling, like energy across a line.
It almost has a rhythm, there can you hear it?!
Kind of like a...heart beat. Dear god it's alive!
Can't you feel it?
I think it's building, made of emotion.
The energy tearing us a part!
Building...
      Buzzing...
             As if one stray thought would rip your sub conscious from existence.

All life and thought become one, inside and out bringing us to the brink.
Then breaking away into death, orgasm, enlightenment, rebirth and then....stillness.

Silence.

But wait, I hear a sound.

My Little Visitor

One day while sitting at my window

I saw something very strange

A little man on my windowsill

And he was playing a merry little game

He was dressed in different colors

In clothes from different times

He had a happy little face

That showed no age or lines

He waved hello to me

And gave a bright eyed smile

Then he preformed some fairy tricks

that entertained me like a child

There upon the windowsill

He flipped, jumped and rolled

While doing such acrobatics

He looked so proud and bold

Then from his jacket he pulled a ball

And gave a mighty wink

With a flick of his wrist the ball was gone

I knew not what to think

Flames flew from his fingertips

Smoke poured from his eyes

Flowers grew in his hair

I laughed until I cried

He showed me such wonders

That I’ve never seen before

I gave a standing ovation

And cried “Encore, encore!”

On his face a look of sadness

“One more trick!” He cried

Then he jumped from my windowsill

And hit the ground and died.

By,

Shannon A. Rhoten

January 22, 2002