Fearless, until everything becomes a
song’s reveal;
the flaws and the scars are all real;
fine cloth and heavy perfumes once concealed
the naked persistence of a numbing existence
–
Romancing with mirrors -
for a zygote’s continuation
must be seduced by the imagination;
and as for the sinner’s redemption?
it is a fleeting thought - passing by on the
nines
stopping only for solemn funeral
processions
or for the columns of white crosses aligned
into military progressions
neither, is defined by absolute evil
nor offered in abstract communions with
goodness;
the space between devils and angels
has no barriers;
no break in the waters between the
deep black bottoms
and the shimmering lights dancing upon
the surface
Standing outside the halls of hell
the doors are kept unlocked
except for the one where the earthly water
is made holy
and where the air is dense with
judgements;
walk - walk away from the dens of
innocence-
Nay! Run as if all peril rains down from
the blessed skies
as the song plays:
“seems like heaven and all is well
With the enchanting seven deadly sins of
hell”
The old man, full of grit,
trudges through woods where the paths do
split
remembering the young boy,
with a broken toy,
who drowned there -
weighed down by his thoughts, in
midair-
the jump was a perfect fit;
one final touch of his wicked wit
he chose the long way home
while writing his poem;
doomed to wander
and wail in maunder
for grace hints at temptation
and then, temptation begs grace
Truth is black
and white
when scribed in a bold typeface
however, verity becomes nuanced
when parsed within a neuro interface;
infused and then defused
by degrees of convenient integrity
to be properly read into the epistles
of intended ethics
Probity and mendacity have
interchangeable parts
explained by the tones and the shades
of light;
based on the angle and the aperture
then, at once, at the blink of an eye
a picture is taken that shows all
yet, explains nothing
The enchanter walks in with anonymous
flair
wishing to be known by its jaunty air
admiring the distorted reflection
upon the glass of bourbon and ice;
and her name?
It is different now
however, the name is also always
the same - shame
Betrayal has innocent eyes -
I will always believe your lies
rather than survive what dies
when pain glows in all the dark spaces
while remedy barely flickers in
fantasy places
Looking to heal
has lost all appeal
that is the deal
Ideals fly away
who is to say?
who is left to pray?
It is easier not to stay
The vigil is eternal
the geese fly away
thoughts stay
like stains made upon life’s journal;
the interconnections are meaningless -
unless, they are the pointillism’s of
a grander
more elegant presence;
an integral part of all nothingness
and too, the ending period; the final
brush stroke of life’s work
for redemption is - fleeting.
