A decent descent into an attempt,
a heart’s lament into life exempt.
Innocence, in a sense, credit to my cousin
is a kind of thing that “can” when all else is just “doesn’t.”
The wild winds of justice twisted
Saw a chance to fly, but missed it.
The mind distorted, heart escorted
Adamant and brash, the romance snorted.
Scoffs at thoughts of love ne’er lost,
It held the sorrow and out the window tossed.
What thoughts through my mind can I venture to explore
when I only see the doorknob to a sealed off door?
Unlock my soul and shackles rend
before my head and neck should bend.
I bow to no man who in flesh reigns
Doing what he says and cleaning up his drains.
My thoughts alone propel me forth
May sixth be always before the court.
A justice seeking, none it finds
Only shudders shuttering behind the blinds.
Marred visage, I envisage another
Pray tell, what lies have stumbled my brother?
The flow unruly, unkempt, and wept
Swept beneath the rug he stepped
On when he cried out in agony’s voice.
Oh, what a mistake, what a terrible choice!
Meditations on life he continually wrote
until the savagery within he smote.
Not by rote, but by experience alone
Not knowing what to shun and what to condone.
Sleep overcomes every kind of pain
but in sleeping, one sacrifices possible gain.
So prick me rose, and blood you shall see
Til it springs forth enough to receive.
Take it away, the pain for the pleasure
until the two are equal in abounding measure.
Sacred treasure, the sweetness of a rose’s scent
is countered by a slow, escalating de-scent
of thorns behind morns, as the child mourns
forlorn the sad story of how fury scorns.