Dear Fears,
This's the last time the issue I find
perturbing enough to look upon
does more to me than..is to be
thought of as indifferent
and as a web spun!
The shears of severed limbs
make the charter more embellished and difficult.
Say to me you'll call our grievances a benefit
of prayer and the stacked psalms upon an altar...
and to a future, the snare!
But I fear, and soon, all that is about one place
or the last, that is no cartoon;
defies principle of hope and is now the continuance
to which I so improperly write about often!
And when inept stares me in the face
the moon will creep into a somber fascination
making death or the prize of killing
all that I find tomorrow needing, for certain!
If one's shoulders cry "sun upon our throne", then, of thorns...
tis when I wisely smear the God forsaken blood away.
That is the one dream I know will not ask to be underkept,
by you atavistic fear, or overthrown, dear fiend, fear.
Or in pastel truths...oh!
the eternal classes of myriads of sunsets. oh!
please can you pray for me so righteously as I did you?