He retreats into his home, and
Now his ritual's begun,
He briefly questions his decisions, and
The person he's become.
Now he brings to birth, an orange flame
Beneath a tarnished silver spoon.
His eyes fixate on glints of light,
Which penetrate his living room, and
Flood into his windows, from the
Autumn evening's harvest moon, and
He looks down into the spoon, he
Smiles, and gives a simple nod, and
Now with unremitting reverence, he is
Praying to his God, and begging:
"Sanctify me, rectify me,
"Tranquilize, mesmerize me,
"Pacify me, O' great master, so
"That I might know thy peace, and
"Fill me with intrigue, pon which,
"My famished soul might feast!"
"Won't you please..."
"Light my darkness?
"Stoke my flame?
"Calm my mind and
"Heal my pain?
"Dry my weary,
"Weeping eyes, and
"Grant my heart, to
"Feel again?"
"If only for a moment,
"Let me know that
"I'm still live! and
"Fill me with your beauty,
"That of which, I'm so deprived!"
Now, he draws up with his needle,
The cold steel then tears a hole,
He feels relief, that within seconds,
He will once again be whole.
Back he pulls, as crimson stains the walls
He pushes in, and back he falls,
Into the velvet wonderland, of
Blankets on his bed.
His prayer indeed, was not refused
He feels fulfilled, he is renewed,
Well, at least until tomorrow's
Vicious cycle starts anew.
I've lost way too many friends: in death, to crime, to prison, and all because of ******. This is my requiem unto their memory. I've been lamenting over this one for some time, and although the meter may appear unstable in certain places, it seems to flow in my reading of it. I just hope that it may mean as much to someone else as it does to me.