Poetry - Scott Thomas Outlar

Karmic Deliverance

I threw fits while still in the womb,
screaming not to be spit out too soon,
because my soul inherently knew
that this life of rebellion and dissidence
wasn't shaping up to be
one of kittens, cupcakes,
and cotton candy.

Coughing Fit

This winter sky is a dark Valhalla.

These eagles do not sing about the birds and the bees;
they vomit a melody of pure annihilation.

The women and children have already sunk;
spend your time saving the bugs instead.

Initials of love have been scrapped from the tree bark;
open wounds bleed with the burning sap of hell.

One thousand verses of romance have been vanished;
the smoke in the air is signaling war.

The meek got marked as rubes;
a black wave was born to inherit the earth.

Weep not when you see what fate has in store;
learn to swim, learn to dance, learn to laugh, learn to purge.

This winter sky is a cancerous lung.

These final breaths are seized with a gasp;
this smog is a kiss from the gods of tomorrow.

French Riviera Romance

I would love to watch you burn.
I'd even stick my tongue into the flames
to sweeten the fire
for a final kiss goodbye.

Nothing Never Sounded So Good

"Happiness Writes White" – Harvey Danger

Sometimes an artist
must actively dredge up
the darker aspects
of their soul's shadow
so they can then
express their emotions
through a purge
of past experiences.

Sometimes an artist
must absorb
the most heinous energy
from humanity's
collective consciousness
in order to serve
as a mirrored reflection
of the world's problems
so that solutions can be sought.

But sometimes an artist
shifts into the comfort
of perfect peace
by aligning with vibrations
manifested from the Holy Spirit,
and so becomes blessed
with the opportunity
to chill out
for a few mellow moments
while saying everything necessary
loud and clear
through absolute silence.