Black Beard.

Black Beard.

Black Beard..
Each hair is razor sharpened
On old rocks
The Inner serpent
Writhing in a dance
Beneath the white and dagger
Of the thawb
Of vengeance.

Knife gun hip slung and ready.

Lost in quotation
Flooding from the blister bitten lips
Comes bile the colour pink.

Eyes glitter
Vision blinded by the darkness
Of the thoughts
Eyes sparkling in the light
See nothing of the nightmare that he is.

The stench of chickenheartness
A firm reminder of his tyranny
He rides upon a woman
As a Beast
Because he fears her.

I smell the sting of death...
But not my own.
Black Beard is rotting from within
The decay comes from him.

Kristine Byrne 19 Oct 2012