Temple of my soul thou do depart
To regions fraught with change unknown,
Regions wracked with tensions unbecoming
To that which is, by nature, pristine and demure.


How , in all sanity, can a mind so clear,
Barge into waters of stuff so toxic, so turbulent?
With no preamble, without a whit of consultation,
Without prior thought?


And now you *******.
Now you point the finger of vile blame
At my simple self. Now you ****** the blade
With malevolence to my breast.


A crimson flood of innocence cascades across the floor.
Confusion clouds the dying eye.
A sensation of childlike rebuke
Is the final thought.



Marshalg
Cast to a cold, dank place in my mind.
9 July 2012





© 2012 Marshal Gebbie