Oh Indy, Poem by Ashleigh Wiggins

Oh Indy,
Did you expect me to falter,
Beg for you to share your wisdom?
Perhaps,
You should write something worth grovelling for.

Words leak from your tedious mind,
Yet mine are woven from soulful threads.

I hear you think yourself a god,
Even a deity, without followers,
Is nothing but forgotten pages.
I'm rising up,
You're just a step on the way.

Is it true, that you can fly,
Or rather, are you deluded-
By your own chamber of echoes?

Oh Indy,
Your pathetic prose,
A disgrace of ink and parchment.
Even you believe it unworthy of your voice.

Empty words,
Give way to unremarkable stanzas.

Perhaps,
If you look good enough on your knees,
Id grant you the merciful infliction of my voice.

Let's hear you plead,
For a breath of life, among your fading lines.

I will not be a decibel,
To a king with an irrelevant crown.
A mere week to begin to rule,
Are you afraid, I'm just playing around?
Oh Indy, can't you see?
It's you, who should step down.
You're nothing but a servant,
Unqualified to carry my gown.

I've read your words, frankly they disappointed,
As a goddess, I'll allow you to be reappointed.
Wouldn't want you to feel unexploited.

Ah, I see,
Perhaps you're a masochist?
Allow me to thread a quilt of your pain.

Perhaps,
It'd be better to put your fists to the floor,
Rather than pick up a quill in this war.
A sickle you wield, to harvest the crop,
Not very fitting, for a poet on top.
I'd offer to battle, wielding words as a blade,
But you may as well be yielding a spade.
How does it go, the mighty do fall?
I suppose then, you'd just have to crawl.
A slam poet, truly the best you can do?
The gift to write, was surely wasted on you.
Blessed with imagination and might,
My, aren't you but a pitiful sight.
I've grown in a void of colourless dreams,
Oh, how I'll cherish your resounding screams.
Your rhymes are, as cute as they are lazy,
Hearing your lines leaves my consciousness hazy.
I wonder how it feels, to be shunned by imagery,
Does it remind you, we'll never have symmetry?
I may face the abyss of monochrome,
But man, at least I'm not so monotone.
Your style's overused, overdone,
Can you not see, the new era has begun.

Oh Indy,
My, aren't you cute,
A little mouse, sat upon his toothpick throne.

Allow me, to dip your heels in crimson ink.
Learn your place, to kneel at my feet.
Darling, you're obsolete.
I form desperation at will,
A leather binding, warped by a single tear.
Feel the passionate kiss of my wrath,
Flames burning along sweat slicked skin.
I breathe comfort into the souls of others,
A gentle caress, from the goddess of death.
Can you not see your envy?
Poison green leeching from jealous eyes.
Do you fear the loneliness of your fall?
As waxen wings melt, the Icarus is shunned-
-Even by earth.
I would paint you a canvas of my hatred,
But you're not worth such a strong emotion.

Oh Indy,
I'd love to see you bend the emotions of others,
Rather than rely on poorly written measures.

Succumb to your bladed truth,
But a meager poet,
Whittled
To
Nothing.