Waka

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Art

Art should not be safe.

Poetry is seduction,
Music is fire,
Painting is for the insane.

Art is the mad flame of love.

-Hunter Coch-


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Premonition

She looked within me
From across the crowded room,
Eyes of lust and steele.
And it was in that moment
I knew what the night would bring.

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White Fire

Look into your soul
And the pitch of selfishness
Reeking jealousy.
Find hidden fire within
And let white light burn it free.

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No Way

In search for the road,
Seeking a destination.
Lost in wilderness,
A state of desolation.
In the forest of be-ing.

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Way of the Drifter

He’s got pale blue eyes
And a sly crooked smile.
His heart burns with rage,
For the world has done him wrong.
He walks upon dunes,
Wind and sand,
      His face weathered.
Always on the hunt,
He seeks to reap his vengeance.
None are left but ghosts
In a sea of empty death.
Few dare cross his path.
He is destroyer of men,
Lone Saint of killers.
Judicator of the lost
Walking the dark road of dusk.

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Part of the Drifter series


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Be

What’s life
      But a dream,
To be lived to its fullest
By the living dead.

Live your potential,
      Become.
Become what your soul screams for.

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Climax

Desire becomes
Lust.
      Hedonistic passions
Climax in the night.

What joy women’s bosoms bring,
What pleasures blossom below.

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Red Rage

Deep anxiety,
She holds with an iron grip,
With
      Dust,
            Rust,
                  And nails.
I escape into the night,
But she returns with red rage.

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The Nature of Night

When the sun goes down
And most of the land dreams deep
There are those that wake,
Some in pleasures deep embrace,
Others alone in torment.

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That Scent

That Scent

That scent left drifting
In the darkness of delights,
With moans and seeded
Dreams and secret desires
Blossoming.
      Sharp,
             Sweet fragrance.

That scent swims with life
Among the sheets and bodies.
A nude dance of flesh,
      Wandering hands,
             Silken lips,
Desires living bouquet.

That scent pleasure cast,
A sea of swimming perfumes
Onto the bodies fulfilled
Falling in dreamless slumber,
      That scent,
             Is of dreams,
                     Fulfilled.

-Hunter Coch

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