.....Lo, forth I do march, Hell's scorch fuels the ascendancy Into solemn inner battle amongst Myselves, I am a poem at war with words, The pen a bride like some spectral Verbiage- luminosity antagonisong The swell of ferocity, I do cling As the audascious hope gathers its wounds And scatters like petals in the furious winds, The forbearance of that knife Wielded within the self, Self against self, The battle rages against the heart, Against the mind, Down to the very soul!
In the craftmans tomb, A poem floods the inner sanctum And the march forward seems Like a depression plowing The fields of memory, Oh what dreams may come May also haunt.
And one drops many a word, The war inside like flock Of crows into the blinding light, I still here could not give in, The soul still battles its flesh....