"clemency" poems
I'll be the sea, fatuous and chaotic
You be the sky, melting into marigolds above me
Tasting colours, orchards of hues
Close my eyes and lift up my libation
All my arid poems of sybaritic self pity
Sand on my lips, wind sweeping my hair, seashells in my ears
Salty spray on my eyelashes
You're my sweet clemency, verdure and elusive
I want all of you, your ochre and your chartresue and your auburn melting into each other
I want your contradictions and contraindications and complications and dreary storms
Your bleak Tuesdays, your burnt clouds, your blurry edges
Your unknowable horizons
And your azure, pastel and electric, harsh and soft, misty and empty
Do I need to spell it out, darling
I want to kiss you, isn't it obvious
Jan 3, 2022
Jan 3, 2022 at 11:02 PM UTC
I am the barbed thorn
the serrated reward
facing savage cruel winter;
sedition in transmission.
I am the only pawn
on your chequered board
facing a feisty queen;
of restricting submission.
I am the demonic exon
a heraldic discord
facing bleak futures;
an inherent disposition.
I am the stillborn reborn
the aberration restored
facing anomalies instability;
violation on a mission.
I am broken and worn
a fallen sword
facing a grim battle;
outnumbered by division.
I am the brass horn
the out of tune chord
facing orchestral expulsion;
a musician in remission.
I am history's forewarn
the contrite accord ignored
facing penitent absolution;
clemency in transition.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
They say lots of things about love,
They make it seem it is the ultimate desire,
Wanton and wilder than the known universe,
An cataclysmic explosion of two personalities,
Born separate, reborn together,
And yet...
I have loved worse men,
And lost better women than I deserve,
And now my convex chest is as vast and devastated as abbey ruins,
sanctuary,
sacred,
crooked,
ruined,
beautiful,
still here,
After hundreds of years.
Maybe I will live on in my memories,
For there are graveyards in my bones,
Eulogies imprinted on my arteries,
Long lost love letters scarred on my very marrow
For those that I drowned,
And those I saved.
My faith is a moorland hillside war memorial,
An obelisk to reach the very gods,
Your love is but a squall,
My hope is a trickle, a stream, a reservoir, in the deepest steepest canyon and Valley,
Your love is but a rain drop,
My clarity is at the bottom of a whiskey bottle,
Your love is but an ice cube.
Do not ask me brazenly to die for you,
When ******* me is your finest hour,
And I am but a pleasure boat ride for your masculinity to take a trip in,
We are not divine here;
My expectations are as low as your esteem:
A water you paddle in, a toe dipped perhaps,
but you wouldn't swim through, dare to at least,
And yet,
I am a rushing beautiful rainbow of a waterfall on a sunburn induced day,
The haze in the corner of your eye,
When you begin to question,
"is this too good to be true?".
Yes.
We are all but fallacies.
Dip your fingers and cross yourself,
As you wish for clemency.
But still,
Be still,
And know,
That,
I am,
God.
Am I?
Or am I just divine on your tongue?
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 4:24 PM UTC
Hypotonic collusions
Rising in osmotic lesions
An eruptive soul reversion
Emissions of embered logs
Each lightening with a glow
A youthful straw of clemency
Pollinated sandals, handled
Gripping the flesh in vessels
Houses of lost and unreal dreams
Vicarage gardens of suppression
Masticated in delegated abstractions
A surmise of death and redistributions
Each a beat rise, slide on frosty ice
Un-enveloped in seasons of erosion
Delusional commotions sprawled
In the dance of the ecstatic programming
The body waved and led in hypnosis
********** with the intangible essence
To make sense a revised tense,I fence
Straying in lenient lunacy to fields afar
A merry to ferry the phoenix dance
Rattles shaking in transit translations
Drums pause settling in finesse pond
A coitus of dimensional valour and vice
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 9:37 AM UTC
*Pain can be inflicted with suffering so great
By Cruelty’s powerful hand
When she heartlessly touches upon your fate
Taking your life, in her command
Now Terror, is Cruelty’s sister in pain
Jealous and filled with hate
She takes great pleasure in helping her reign
Extreme fear, is their helpmate
Compassionate motions of kindness are extended
When generous Mercy steps into view
One can see a graceful clemency offered, unsaid
In his forgiving eyes, of blue
A state of serenity will begin washing you clean
When sweet Peace enters the case
Holding his vision of Mercy steady and keen
A look of tranquility on his face
Let us not ever forget Pity, the one in the fold
Feeling sorrow over your pain
He will always gently extend his hand to hold
As long, as your suffering remains
However, everything changes when Love steps in
More powerful than all the rest
Overcoming the rampage of Cruelty’s reign
I would say, she is the best*
Sep 24, 2010
Sep 24, 2010 at 6:46 PM UTC
Justin I forgive you, won’t you call me, your birthday must be coming soon we haven’t spoken since we moved our family into the desert. I just pray you’re not seeking cotton fever yet again, chasing the dragon, or at the very least eating school buses while falling into ‘H’ before you find yourself in bed drunk again, and on Ambien too. Dead too soon. You’ve always wondered why I didn’t introduce you to Ryan, my other incredibly dear and brotherly friend. Well wonder none more, he’s in a padded room at Mt. Sinai in Lakeview or perhaps Northwestern’s adult care unit, there was talk or at least I imagined he could make it to Lakeside Manor right there East of Foster. So it’s clemency, peace of mind, and something to loosen the edge off your back, something to let you fall, something to set your pain at weightless your mind at I-Don’t-Have-To-Give-A-Fuck-Anymore, my friend where have you been? Where have you taken yourself? Please drag yourself back at least a half-step, reverse your position and engineer an out please. I can’t begin to accept losing both of my brothers to two versions of the same disease.
Oct 20, 2019
Oct 20, 2019 at 1:10 AM UTC
my rhymes, they're supremacy, while they need consistency, yours the are unwanted clemency, mine requires ability;tremendously, you rhymes, low volume low density, D=m/v, ***** that, im all about chemistry, chemistry between the bonds of my melody, while yours are useless discrepancy, perform reverse polarity, while you're searching for popularity and keeping your rhymes up breathlessly. hey, i'll give you a break; temporarily. i'll come back later; sequentially.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 10:08 AM UTC
We watched the sun fall down and scrape its knee again, across the horizon.
Effusing amaranth, carmine, and cochineal across polluted vista.
It felt petty to issue guttural laughs, or engage the myofacial crescents beneath its visual lament as the Earth turned its back again.
We watched the sun rise, bruised, tender and shy this morning.
Its muddled contusion obviated by the gauze of fog.
A mottled neophyte -
Luminescent crepuscular rays defied dregs of interstellar debris and cloud.
Aching to kiss your skin -
In stellar cloud nursery, it eschewed the torque of orbit and gravity - eras before verity of your essence.
Humbly settling concentrically about oblate sphere, and gaseous tome.
Latterly - It altered the atmospheric pressure on the other side of the planet a week antecedently, as you clung to your dream lattice, and Earth innately turned oblate nucleus.
Its intent –
A veneration of you.
It bade the atmosphere convey a breeze echoing about your dermis, as it gilded your frame laconically, betwixt shaded steps beneath cloud and arbor.
The sun yelled at me at its pinnacle today,
Pallid bone – molten - miasma of rage
Its core missive garnered inertia – coronal plasma warping ellipsoid factions in inflections of elusive filigree
Pirouetting spicules spattered smelted torrents in the dismal anchorite
Atomic schism – silent but felt
It stoked humidity under shadowed niche - casual vaporous smears evinced no clemency.
Flesh torqued, and seized beneath itself, briny globules shed from puckered pore.
Culminations of sensitive fluid sacs scorched into the shallows of my chassis.
Insignia knit in cellular shrapnel
The sun ignored me today – or perhaps, it was I it.
Enigmatic tenacious resolution – an echo of its gravitational collapse
Inverse thermonuclear fusion
It is not fear in a relationship that keeps you apart, it is neglect of the infinitesimal.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
Arrival final destination,
Welcome to Huntsville you see,
Enter by the back door,
Then you go to eat,
Traditional fare, if you like,
Burger wrapped in blood,
The blood red of ketchup, matches the blood on your hands,
You are young, dressed in virtual innocence,
Do the crime, you do the time,
Is it worthy of eternity,
Since break of day you wait,
Waiting for impending death,
6 P.M
It is the evening of your darkest day,
For vile sin, with life you pay,
What thoughts traverse through your young head,
As tears trickle and pleas long gone,
For clemency calls rolled onto deaf ears,
You were the big man so they said,
A victim of cruel circumstance,
Collared by forensic drift,
Evidence grabbed,
Poor boy,
At a cost of $86.08,
more than you made on that fateful day,
Led to the gurney in shackles and chain,
Chains weighed heavier than conscience,
Conscience ****** your frightened brain,
Are you moved for your final confession,
Ideal for the papers for in a press release,
The last words he did say,
'Thank God for giving me life, see you soon,
Sir, For it's my final day,
Of course, I forgot you know that anyway',
I'm Sorry, so sorry, Father forgive me,
Waited almost a lifetime for this his final day,
The row of death so welcoming,
The great escape maybe,
Visage of executioner,
Looks deep into your soul,
While you stare vacantly into his eyes,
The ultimate sensation of pain as the needle quickly enters your vein,
As nerve endings and your body die,
Reflection of immaturity,
Bad life, sad life, consequence of situation,
No life had, no love lost!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 8:49 AM UTC
No Values
just statues of accountants who could never learn to count
and mounted on the spikes,where business is displayed and laid out for the world to see in naked abject poverty
are chief executives and heads of lesser known departments who never meant to cook the books
but fell for fortune and her looks and took that chance to spread their wings
and now the wind that whistles sings
and passes through their empty eyes ,and flapping flesh drips off dry bones of arms that never meant to harm.
No charmed lives left in Holborn or in Chancery lane,where solicitors were in on the game of taking risks
and risks they took
another spike and one more hook for the fallen wig,who still seems regal but not as big as what he thought legal.
They bought but never owned the sky or stole it from the smaller fry who swam around the edges and the shadows in society
and we,
the ripped off,stripped off,sing dirges to their loss but me,I couldn't give a toss
let them burn and turn slowly on the spit
we'll roast and toast them,
let them boast then of fancy women,fancy cars and fancy meals in fancy bars.
These czars have gone the way of old
where bold men.bad men always fold in two
and the wind blew tears that fell to splash on piles of once extorted cash and though accountants cannot count
judges learn to mount the steps and put their heads in hangman's ropes and any hopes they entertain of clemency go down the drain along with
any gains they ever made.
Those who laid beside the wide boys of this world and opened eyes into another where they couldn't even bother to see just who they hurt
have lost their shirts,ripped off their backs,attacked by those that they attacked and now the axe is on the other foot where once a boot was kicked into my ****
so good luck you *****
I hope your bodies fall to bits
and you end up burning in the pits
alongside the others that have sinned
in the end
no one wins
the voodoo dolls of life are stuck with pins
and the devil grins and hums his tune.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 1:29 AM UTC
“My poems are often wiser than me, lean into a more keen universe of understanding.” Joy Harjo
<•>
instant recognition moment, Joy, your words,
(despite the kitchen cooking clanging chatter next door),
spilling into the quiet space of my thanksgiving brain
my wiser poems are insights inscribed inside,
exposed and released all in their own good time,
they, always blogging, leaning out to escape,
asking the Governor for clemency, early release
poems that are my self-defensive explicit explanations,
excuses, convoluted ratinocations, prosecutorial accusations, leveled by my disbelieving, revealing, sworn to silence
not-to-be-trusted-confessor-me against the indefensible
nobody likes a wise guy,
but out they come, under the covers, dem poems
of nighttime darkness, spilling beans and silent screams,
asking you if we remember that time when we...
yes, we.
but writ in the first person personal,
in words summoned from his own ****** deep darkness?
better in plain english when sharing shadings of universal,
and you leaning in on me from within,
presence of pressure, a plaintive palliative wailing,
ejecting an *********** of joy
when “please release us” is honored with our
collective wisdom
<•>
11/24/17
9:07am
Nov 24, 2017
Nov 24, 2017 at 10:07 AM UTC
The rigor morgasm
last bus to spasmville
will you rise to the occasion,take a ride,go on vacation or will you fail,sails up,head down,sink or swim,win out or drown?
These thoughts are what occur to me,when thinking somewhat morbidly about what age may do to me,and when or if it happens, will I see, or feel the loss of my virility,it really bothers me,it never did before,but then I'm almost at three score,(I'm talking years)
when fears of that impotency may be more important than what I think of as my potency,and I ask the lord libido to show me some high rise clemency and let me be the man I think I am.
Fevers of the mind when the motions of the body blind, slow,
you know,
but you don't say,
you love me anyway
I love you
sometimes and sometimes at times I come through,making love with you,counting calendars,dates and we are the best of mates,lovers too.sometimes you love me sometimes coming through,but always love me making love with you.
We may be old and often told that all is past,
and then we smile and kiss,
cast off our wrinkled skin and dive in to swim in each others winning ways,making it,sometimes at odd times of the days or nights and lights off or on,
and if this goes the way we think it should
I would not complain.
There comes a time sometimes when we have to read between the lines and tell the Doctor on prescription about the failures of ********
I ***** a monument, to this my plea,
let the lord libido be kind to me.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 8:37 PM UTC
Brimming with black steeds, green bowls overflow with walls of raining lava in ****** mode
Pinning down paradise beneath your brown thumb, see it wriggle away in mockery of your arty drivel
Only you can thrash on, as magically as a thought which pops in rude bursts
- - - then away it flies
In a silent harbour of study, all the imperfections of my breathing that the mirror glances back at me
I try hard not to swallow failure wholemeal, in the course of a day - - - I choke so many times
And angel wings brush by in shy embrace, but I shove its clemency flat on its face
And in vehement denial of anything beautiful - - - it is not present, save through you
I can submerge so easily, if only to succumb to the silence and the peace
The muted bubbling around my head and throbbing against my ears and pressing on my arms
So comforting
Instead, there’s too regular clicking to the detriment of supple joints
And licking of lips and silent brooding in steeped corners
Any effort to siphon the stillness in the air is severed by intrusions
And the lake beckons me - - - my broken feet follow
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 2:07 PM UTC
take rain from sky
take the way tall men straighten your stance
take the students of dance
see the little ballerina stretch her toes
see her mother warm with the floodlight
take your plea to the judiciary
take your eye to the statue of David
smear on the dust of Somalia
rub raw the frost of Croatia
refresh your aim in the heights of Angola
but do not stop only at this
breathe every impediment
trust every promise of clemency
stumble if you will
fall under cease-fire
take it all
take the watchmaker
bent over time
with fine tools
clasp each second
take the sculptor who
chisels and scalpels for the grandiose
later in your armchair
fold creases in your newspaper with care
be with every nourishment
be with the cloth of your nakedness
make sail for your harbour of origin
remember the milk of your mother
warm or cold or sweet if it is so
appease hunger
with the ambidextrous mouth
of a soldier
fed with death in his jungle
be the bystander, be the bi-partisan,
the ******* the timeless,
the dancer
be it all
breathe each increment
do it now
measure the infinite
the possible
MChallis © 2015
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 8:02 PM UTC
there is never an afterthought looking
at society as a whole but, in times of
discontent; we look disdain in the eyes
as it dulls humanities open-mindedness,
aghast
yet, we find clemency to overlook abominate
behavior in our fellow humans fore... the storm
will pass in the face of sullen words that may
darken our path; it behooves ethically to consider
their trials and tribulations in life as they unmask;
revealing their torment to mind and soul, giving
thought to their utterances and actions seeking
forgiveness, falling to their knees in repentance
dare we ask of their dilemma or do they shutter
in the wake of humanities wrath; shall we re-consider,
silently ingesting; fact or fiction in a society of closed
minds, refusing to shed their armor, their protection
from the few in the masses with no afterthought,
no understanding as a mind clashes with thoughts
of self-destruction; finding no justification
thinking God has abandoned them to face irrational
minds and behavior; not realizing He's right by their
side walking in their shoes; carrying them through
their burdens, trying to open up their eyes mind and
soul to see hope at salvations door , fore, they have
not been forsaken...the minds a terrible thing to waste
on societies triviality
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 2:25 PM UTC
the boy kicks on his back, which is good for his memory.
the house does not clamor for care.
the dryer has a thought, fantastic, like a pony.
the mailman, jesus christ, the mailman has caught
his sleeve
on a branch. the boy’s mother is laughing. indeed,
she may die.
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 11:08 AM UTC
d'harga'h! urn! and sung clemency with the sign of the cross - Mr. Longinus - a baptism awaits...
in the Turkish shop buying my beers -
politics talk, gone Razza - Tahir -
talk of politics - deciphered a word:
Erdoğan (Erdoghan, Edrogrzan,
what was it - macabre radish to taste -
niechmaj sto Vlad'a reka na tle kiwnieniem raz!
i krok poza 'sztem! bogiem byka wybryk
szto?! - the crowds descended, and the kestrels
and the pigeons, and the swans,
and the migratory storks, and the seagulls -
for the Winged-Hussar Polonaise.
fluff of the wings -
the Mongol stench
reinterpreted - i rather be picking
ethnic mushrooms - kropki polka -
and koniewki - łopieniek & canary -
grünling in German, gąska zielonka - Pan Kleks -
or Chanterelle Mushroom - pepper shakerz -
kurki, tzn. te słynne grzyby.
the deviating kurka - or chickpea foetal
variant of fungus - or alias chick.
each time they pithy my assertion to claim the
ethnic brothel of Europe that Poland is for
the noble families - each time they undermine
the worker testifying the fuck-worthy ****
prior sleep - pride settles in -
and a long forgotten assertive builds up
to architectural proportions -
it just ends up being a game of throwing
copper coins into Scotland, potatoes into Ireland...
and dinosaur bones into Wales...
and post-colonial subjects into England, lazily
packed with the labels **** and Hindu;
Karzimierz Dębski could have said: it was never
supposed to come to this; shame that it did;
the safety option was exacted.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 10:59 PM UTC
the pinnacle of childhood
comes with the symphony of adolescence.
the realization that life is evanescent,
the breaking of cyclical routine,
catalyzing the bittersweet epiphany
of long-awaited nirvana.
no longer blithe and naïve,
quaff from the chalice of clemency
until intoxicated with the notion
of no longer being in limbo.
the mendacious oblivion of childhood evaporates,
lifting the veil of soporific innocence,
all traces of puerility gone.
come,
enter the province of adulthood,
and live as a free soul,
no longer required to conform
to the standards of ascetics.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 1:04 PM UTC
You wake up to the sounds of foreign beeps and buzzes
Pounding their way through your eardrums
Invading your head
Manipulating your thoughts
You find yourself strapped down by some invisible force
You can’t quite make out
Opening your eyes is too hard
Drenched in layers of sweat
Built up from last night’s visions
Clearer than the sunlight
Faintly glowing outside
Wait
Is it even daylight?
You don’t even know
Or remember
There are no windows in this place
White walls drowning out your thoughts
Your ideas
And replace it with sterile censored
Fakeness
This phony face you stole from the inmate who
Sometimes invades your privacy
Feigning clemency
All doctored up in a silver platter in the form of
Syrupy voices laden with empty promises
Emptiness screams louder than parties and bars packed with people
It seems as if no one is here
Yet everyone’s watching
Spirits haunt this prison while i sleep
They are always here
They never leave
Whispering my mistakes
Constantly reminding what I could have been
And never will
Make them go away
It finally dawns on you
This is the place of nightmares
And there is no escape
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC
How disconcerting…
Brace for a fight
Lace up the gloves
Vaseline the soft spots
Turn corners on two wheels
Arrive and
Kick in the doors
To find that
The Enemy
Is no longer in existence
Already vanquished
By an even greater enemy
Leaving in its wake
A pitiable thing
Arousing in a decent soul
Compassion…and
Prayers...
For one’s self--
Strength
And for the other--
Mercy…
Nothing honorably left to do
BUT pray
For one ’s self---
Only that God notices
This quiet sacrifice
Cuz there will be no
Forgive-me’s… or
Thank-you’s…or
I-love-you’s… or even
Closure
When one unlaces the gloves
Washes the face
Rolls up the sleeves
And returns
For cruelty
Compassion
For ill will
Tenderness
For Indifference
Clemency
And for Unkindness
Humanity…
And pray
For the other---
Only
Mercy…
Have Mercy…
Have Mercy Lord…
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 3:34 PM UTC
She stood
In the middle of a storm
The ocean floor slipped from
Beneath her feet
The waves let out a howl of anguish
She stood there
Imperatively
Helplessly begging for clemency
The water touched the rocks
And moved away
Tides were high
Moon was involved in a surreptitious affair
The passerby ignored her
With uttermost ingenuity
He knew
she was the bone of contention
Of the evil
She was an illusion
She spun the web and caught her prey
He knew the tales of the people
Who had
developed an infatuation with her
Together she commemorated the
Death of all those imbecile beings
Every minute
Gravity pulled towards her
A different kind of person
A different soul
Every minute destructed itself
Whatever was left
was summoned to her with a grin.
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 5:54 AM UTC
They have written me off
They could have prevented my demise
But they would rather pay the cost
For a false witnesses lies
This epidemic
May soon have a remedy
As for me
It’s too late
They’ve already denied clemency
The power of God
In the hands of man
Leaving those who oppose
Too scared to stand
I was convicted
Before I was tried
The world rejoiced
As my mother cried
Could they not see it
From her side?
A suited tribe
Thirsty for someone to die
Feeling foolish
Because in my mind
Justice was supposed to be blind
Defense was worthless
Media circus
Where the jurors were
Corrupted clowns
Before they knew their purpose
Distorted versions,
They knew
I shot every round
Guilty!
Is what they found
I was victimized
By a victims cries
Seeing my innocence
Refusing to look me in my eyes
My sincerity had been denied
It was evidently evident
The evidence was irrelevant
Judge served no purpose
Playing God for the hell of it
Praying for the privileged
To pardon me
Pro-life defender
Pretenders
Discarded me
Waiting for the phone to ring
Hoping that it will
I’ve been denied clemency
My fate has already been sealed…
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 1:00 AM UTC
From two fiery souls, a being was yielded
With their ambitious love, it must be guided
Whose young soul, at birth, pranced at the brink of death
God heard his wish, granting the infant another breath
As the time went on and went by
The same star was the brightest in his sky
Riches do not kiss her feet
But his arms, more comfortable than the finest sheets
He was her protector, her shield, her warrior
She was his princess; To no one, she was inferior
On his shoulders, she stood on top of the world
All was perfect 'til the petals unfurled
She fell off from a bicycle and bruised her knees
He treated her wounds but ignored her pleas
The once loving embraces felt like a cage
Under his gaze, she was a prey on center stage
Goodnight kisses were no longer pure
His warm embrace, no longer secure
What used to be affectionate, now shaky and warm
Eyes that shone with love, now projects harm
Harm to the corporal being, to the efflorescing soul
To sleep at ease, she cannot be cajoled
At days, perturbed; at nights, in fear
She trembles and frets, her fright is sheer
Hands that swept hair away from her face
Left imprints on her skin one can never erase
Lips that pressed kisses on her forehead
Became the source of her every day dread
A princess' skin felt like filthy rugs
Her responses to concern were countless shrugs
Now every time she sees her warrior
Relief vanishes, she is filled with terror
She remained silent, hoped for a change
All done in vain, the protector is deranged
Indulged himself, appeasing carnal hunger
Drowning her in nightmares that will forever linger
No more time for beautiful dreams
For she's awakened by lascivious schemes
The following morning, his lips are stretched to a smile
Forgetting the night, the flower that was defiled
With much courage, the straight road became curved
She took the wheel and hastily swerved
The voice has been found and it finally speaks
A stoppage on his abhorred streak
Knees on the ground, he recites a contrition
The usual alibis, but his own rendition
For so many years, she lived in misery
Mere apologies cannot suffice for clemency
From this point, she can never get far
Why dress her with fabrics of adulterated scars?
I was your princess, your brightest star, remember?
Why did you forget, my dear father?
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
Such suffering I have sown,
But I accept my portion,
What then is there to do.
All the blame cannot be my own
Alone.
If in the flaming depths of Tartarus there is a searing pool
It is there I shall dive, for I have fallen beneath the zenith,
I dip beneath the clouds, soon to shatter on the earth.
Likely that my plea for clemency will fail,
I cannot be held accountable for so blindly fumbling into the deceptions,
When no lens has been provided for me,
I was greeted first with insult,
Then recognized for my wit, and patience,
But low, I never parted the veil.
Justifications are for the guilty,
I cannot justify my nature.
Nor can I say why a scale tips back and forth
With equal weights, on each side,
Only to settle askew,
Again and again.
If there is enough love in this shallow heart,
This cheap vessel of hollow virtue.
I will burn it in the embers of my failing passion,
So as maybe, to brighten the eyes of another,
Whose gaze is less grey than mine.
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 5:47 PM UTC