Art of Pain by Cheri Raley Phillips

Art has no expression
Without precious pain.
Demented anguish,
Unsound as it may be,
Ensures the universal glue
Tethers the flesh
To mortality.

Smiles of labor ensue
The broken water
Blessing the first pain
Of humanity.

The esplanade to Eros
Disbands Libertine fools
Drifting away at 60 mph,
Sucking on fish stories,
Denying the homeostatis
And digital truth
As they heap wicked stick
Upon the fiery shones of

Pain lives in the darkness
Before their very eyes.

The Master artist appreciates
Razor cut skies
Commanding nocturnal winds
To senselessly beat
The nettles of fortunes that would
Sooner swarm in worship
To the clap-trap of defeat,
Rather than embrace
The pain of change.