Poezja

There is little more that I perceive beyond the green vapors that taint every thought
With an insurmountable screen of bars caging my soul, enslaved by the wicked heart
Drumming even while I sleep, the reminder echoing in my head that the truth was
Carved as a wound upon my heart, never to heal until light would salve and let the
World know that love does betray, in this shrinking prison, forcing me to feel every
Pulsing syncope of shame, of hopelessness saturated in memories and shared dreams
That no sword could penetrate the heart but for the Word whose edge is irresistible
To all, destroying and creating with the same stroke, whose power is the mystery of
Truth propelling uncountable worlds to accept surrender, naïvely hoping that death
Is the panacea for this curse of having absent from my life what comes into view, as
Without warning the vapors thin, revealing that I am one sheep to be slaughtered as
Example to those who have crossed my shadow, then heaped as fuel for the furnace
Keeping the Mystery cozy in the hearts of the unbroken, convincing them that Life
Eternal is their reward, blinding us with complacence until the dying-living of grief.