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His True Colours


By Colleen Millsteed Published 8 months ago 1 min read
Image courtesy of Pixabay

He answers to the dawn of the new day like everyone else,

Although he doesn’t quite understand this concept,

His yesterdays are at fault for his cosmic karma,

And the tears that flow because he doesn’t accept.


Sorrow desponds the heart in an in-depth assassination,

Forewarning of the loneliness as per his request,

Stroking an alternate ego in falsity and doom,

Rampaging the field of emotions at best.


He buries his fears in the darkest of sleep,

Paralysing his growth through the barrage of lies,

An overshadowing mission of crazy deception,

Stumbling over the wasted words of the wise.


Seldom does his eyes open upon the bare truth,

His ears are deaf to the inflammatory awareness,

His memories obscured behind a veil of difference,

Blaming the world for life’s so-called unfairness.


He wallows within the doldrums and plays to his cruelty,

Curtains hide the obsession of his sordid mind,

A smile may grace his face, but take it as a grain of salt,

Don’t let it fool you into believing he can be kind.


Tomorrow will be staged much the same,

Once his true colours are shown there’s no more reason to hide,

The dark clouds rush in to highlight the doom and gloom,

Spotlighting the attitude shouldered with those he collide.


Stubbornness covers the obscenity of his nature,

Tying the hands of those few who still care,

It’s in their face he laughs in total destruction,

Until they too realise — in his arrogance and confusion they must beware.

Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.

If you enjoy this piece, you may enjoy this one too.

Please visit my website if you'd like more information on my newly published book, Battle Angel : The Ultimate She Warrior.

Originally published on Medium

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About the Creator

Colleen Millsteed

My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.

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Comments (4)

  • Dharrsheena Raja Segarran8 months ago

    Lol, he's very scary! Loved your poem my friend!

  • I have to ask, where did you find my portrait. It's an amazing likeness, don't you think? And yes, I feel the weight of this in my heart.

  • Babs Iverson8 months ago

    Love the message and the graphic picture!!! Awesome, my friend!!!

  • Cathy holmes8 months ago

    Sounds like someone to stay away from. Well done, my friend.

Colleen Millsteed Written by Colleen Millsteed

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