Hot as cold wax, blue as the sun. <br />The forgotten tribes running, running, running. <br /> <br />We are the children of deceit. <br />We are the unborn ambitions <br />of love-struck demons <br />who attacked the <br />village walls. <br /> <br />Calling for help, screaming for help. <br />Rushing like snails to doom, to doom, to doom. <br /> <br />Racing cars around a track. <br />Broken shadows that will <br />never admit their pain. <br /> <br />Their shallow eyes masking <br />their glancing vibes. <br /> <br />We are the perfectly formed cells <br />of disintegrating morals. <br />We are the freshly turned pages <br />of books left littered <br />on a library shelf. <br /> <br />The frozen popsicle is melting, melting, melting. <br /> <br />Shifting from down to up, from up to down. <br />Back and forth, forth and back. <br />Holding symbols high <br />as if they could <br />actually become <br />alive. <br />Leaping lies <br />from a religion. <br /> <br />We are chaste and we fornicate. <br />We are pure and we destroy. <br /> <br />Hateful windows left open to <br />let in the insects who <br />refuse to die. <br /> <br />They jangle the nerves like fire. <br />Burning, burning, burning the <br />skin. Burning the eyes. <br /> <br />We cannot see. We cannot feel. <br />We cannot be all we can be. <br /> <br />We are evil and we are good. <br />Empty and full. <br /> <br />Hot as cold wax, blue as the sun. <br />The forgotten tribes running, running, running.<br /><br />Chris G. Vaillancourt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hot-as-cold-wax/
