‘Tis prose or does it beckon form
This heart in stormy skies conformed
To angst; from crestfallen beats, like lone pendulums sway
in summer storms, wind chimes waffle, like souls led astray
How will our light oppose the dark?
This darkness knows no bounds to start.
To trust the luminosity, the feats of grandeur’s magic
with performer’s slight, to trysts of water, the waves pelagic
Does it all size up in this fairy-tale?
A sure fit in someone’s sliding scale
with greed a means of tainted joy, unseen as an atrocity
to just choice, to feed the pathways of generosity.
Some eggs need cracking for omelets,
and hearts will break to sate false prophets
In tempestuous winds we press on, to unchain freedom’s light,
These winged tutelars in place, to enforce Heavens might
They aver that ignorance is bliss
that darkness is where evil sits
Within this void, mapping the vast cosmos of all matter
To implicate ignorance with darkness, is to deprive it swagger
Darkness must equate to nothing
so nothing cannot become something
This something; a lover’s famine, a dearth of divinity
A nesting place for demagoguery, without sympathy.
In darkness a small fire still burns
Invisible still; but the devil yearns
To burn with an unholy murk, the absence of the heart
Unbroken blackness, this undue breach where discord starts
Break me now, as to bear this pain,
The anguished tug of tender veins
To free this lost soul, this heart must break, to fathom all miscues
To equate tangibility, means retribution with truth.
My soul ebbs at the precipice
The good in me feels like detritus
In darkest days my exodus stalls, and just a few endure
Abandon then ignore, the terms used by the impure.
Scriptures on parchments cannot abet
As Intrepid pseudo martyrs posing threats
Coupling lies and darkness rescripting fact to then recast
One chance that love had to overcome, is dead in stark contrast.
What tragedy, this summer storm….
sole intentions made, were to deform,
To taint all beating hearts, compelling life from sovereignty
To rein in freedom’s sad dichotomy without apologies.
I’ve spent days entreating to the walls
My voice, a wisp of sad wherewithal
None to share my idioms with, a withdrawal of unclaimed peers
Like a lone ghost in a graveyard full of bodies with no ears.
To hear those pelagic waves still form
Let them wash over us all, to cheer old norms,
When my heart could bleed zealously for love, not policy
To underwhelming colloquy at least with honesty…..
I’d rather all That…
For more works by this author see Paul Neglia on The Creative Exiles.
You can also see more great work by Paul Neglia on HubPages.