Matt Merante ~ Phenom ~ all work copywrited

the color of life
which surges through blue topaz caverns
to keep its boisterous echo in fine tune.

the color of affliction
engulfing man within its acrid gore
spewing out upon the province polestar.

the color of fangs
belonging to the beast out in the pen
who feasts upon mankind's wailing, wrenchful tongues.

the color of God's fountain pen
which crosses out the sins of all his kin
of those who sign the book of endless page.

Yours Truly: Phenom or "thephenom~


The Web-footed Martyr

While soaring with my siblings through the sky
We plunge into a quag to cool our quills.
A two-eyed log is closely swimming by
As my kindred plummet with their bills.
This creepy creature clangs his jagged knives
To feast upon the blood of my menage.
I plan a brilliant scheme to save their lives
To gouge his eyes during his hungry rage.
I sit upon this blinded reptile's snout,
Grateful for the lives that still remain.
My posse's gleeful eyes begin to pout
As I fall down this lurid lizard's drain.
My feathered folk continue on their way;
No quacks are sounded as my kindred pray.



It's hard to keep the froth within
the wrath created by a sin.

It bleaches the lips of those who wail
atop the earthly roof of hell.

It is the venom in my fangs
erected by keen hunger pangs.

Thus, no matter where my soul may roam
thy mouth keeps drooling wet, wan foam.


The Phenom ~ Matt Merante

        A car was speeding down the highway when all of a sudden an elderly
woman was twitching her limbs helplessly on the street after being run
over while transporting her groceries to the other side.  The driver of
the car felt he had hit something, but what?
        "Gulp, oh please Lord don't let it be so!  Please let this be a
nightmare.  I didn't do that to her did I?"
        Hearing a voice in his head.  "Go back my son."  At first he ignored
the voice, but then he heard it again, "You must go back!"
        He suddenly brought his car to a screeching halt and glanced in his
rearview mirror.  He saw several other cars stopped and a person running
back to a house.
        The driver was hesitant to even approach what was behind him.  He
reluctantly stepped out of the car and started walking slowly to the
crowd of people.
        "Call 911!"  He heard some boy yelling amongst all the other hustle and
bustle noises.
        He finally had reached the crowd.  He peered through several shoulders
and over some heads.  He saw what was his nightmare.  The elderly lady
was lying in a pool of blood with her groceries spread amongst the
street.  She was not twitching anymore; her body had gone limp.
        Some bearded motorcyclist was asking people, "What happened man?  Did
like anybody see anything?  Somebody, please help!"
        The crowd began to gather, but no one seemed able to do anything.
Everyone just stared in disbelief.  Then out of the crowd came a group
of young men who seemed in complete control of there facilities and
discussed the accident in a very objective fashion as though they weren’t
part of the mass of onlookers, and then just shook their heads and
wandered off.
        Suddenly, the driver moved to the old woman's side and asked her name
in order to keep her occupied.  She didn't respond, most dead people
don't.  Soon he heard another voice from beyond.  "exhale over her
body."  What for, the driver thought.  This seemed to be the most
ridiculous idea he ever heard.  "Blow hard," said the voice again.  He
figured since everyone was already looking at him oddly, this wouldn't
hurt, so he did.  As he blew a blood-stained message appeared on his
chest.  Everyone in the crowd stood in disbelief as they read the
message.  The message read in bold print--"I committed Granacide."

Always A Way Home


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