From The Depths

Coming back from bad circumstances. Soliloquy of self-recovery.

Lone voice in massacre emptiness
Only the wind holding against my back otherwise I should tumble
In burning embers
With him a matron enmeshed dusk
With out him I am poignant destitution
Banished to brave forces threatening to decapitate
Carving a piece from what is dissected from the grave
Alienated any close relationships upon which had embarked novice
Without cultivation and careful attention any blossom weeds kills off dead
Gone any possible encounters
Promising engagements fall from the blade
Life in reverse revolving around his planet
He roams in freedom
Ambling about the earth as he pleases
Scathed by malevolent restraints of harsh criticism and sadistic sarcasm
Eventually queenly pillars bend down low weeping
Constant reincarnation of failures
Where no gladiator withstands pressures against the sword
as water in an endless drip soon decays and devours… Amen
I used to be a phenomenon of visual dreams…
Prayers soon vocal from these lips of gratitude
if heart is acquired…
It can be that way again