NOCTURNAL POETRY COMING SOON...

From the book Nocturnal Poetry

Beauty in the Beast

Imagine a Lion, who was raised in the wild,
Stripped from the Jungle, but he’s still on the prowl.
Wretched mind combined with a dark past,
Living amongst the peaceful, How long can he last?
Survived many attacks, bit by the Snakes in the grass,
But remember he’s a Beast, so he devoured they ass.

Now he’s in an area where his tactics aren’t accepted,
Shame on the Beast, from the society he’s been neglected.
Acting like a damn fool, but from his looks it was expected.
So he cut off his mane but his actions never changed,
Befriended a couple of birds, but they look down at his ways.
A change is needed, if he ever wants to grow,
Afraid of what he’ll become, but he never lets it show.

Been known to resemble a Dog, but never a bitch,
Lethal as a Snake, but never a snitch,
Made some illegal mistakes, but that was only a glitch,
As ruthless as it takes, but the rules have been switched.

Survival of the fittest, only the strong survive,
Adapting to an environment, that’s so peaceful in his eyes.
The Wolves run in packs, while the Fishes are in school,
But Lions roll in Pride, and don’t abide by Nature’s rules.

The Lion was much stronger than he ever could believe,
Saw the Gorillas in the mist of the alcohol and weed,
An Animal from his past, King Kong at his prime,
But if the dirty Ape thinks he can stop him,
He’s out his monkey ass mind.

I knew the Lion changed when didn’t react with violence,
The vile stench was overwhelmed with a sweet fragrance,
An aroma so serene that was familiar to frankincense.
The smell sparked his thoughts, and it all started making sense.
God was on his side, and he guided him ever since.

You can keep on searching, North, South, West and the East,
But you have to look deep inside to find the Beauty in the Beast.


Another Poem from Nocturnal Poetry

It Reigns in the Mourning

I learned to never be afraid to shed tears,
A sign of a weakness is often feared.
But if dark clouds can rain in the morning,
Why can’t our tears reign in the mourning?
Whether that be for the deceased,
Or the fact my mind seeks peace.
Ever so discreet the tears meet my cheek,
It can’t hit my chin, I show no signs of defeat.
But my actions repeat, again and again,
And then, I finally let the tears reach my chin.
I would never cry over milk spilled,
I’d just wipe it off the floor.
But I’m not afraid to wipe my face,
When the tears reign and pour.