Redemption is Fleeting

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.