Whispers in the Mind

Quite the Killing Spree: Whispers in the Mind

Applause, to your narration, a pen to note causation,

Trace me the way you conceive my illustration to be

You see my face has an intentional connotation

You sense the movement of my lips in their divergency

Free your ears in acclimation, accept this correlation

Spuriously, you will nod your head, but I’ll continue, see,

I know how this conversation can lead to frustration

And I will have this room where I will offend you, agree?

Just how you will be offended is in the translation,

The adaptation of fallacies and to what degree…

The mind is a harsh thing when flooded with aggravation

When all the calibrations are skewed by calamity

And the compensation for it lies within contemplation

Where each nerve of brain delegation has chosen to flee

How can you reel them in and avoid the devastation

What outside manifestation avoids this apogee?

I tender in motivation, in mind occupation

itches beneath the skin, the branch from the olive tree

The devil’s advocate requires precise orchestration

a gainsay for the postulation of hyperbole.

I pose revelation, forsaking veils for salvation

I ask you to free your conscience for some afternoon tea

some cross-examination, perhaps for justification,

if for nothing else but to know on what grounds we disagree.

I wish you to speak your truth, and know my hesitation

Know my reason for the predation of you, my enquiry,

My necessitation for truth, it’s my obligation,

To purge prevarications from the table, and set you free

Deep breaths, the intensity is meant for stimulation,

The mental migration from fact to feel, to cop a plea,

implore the logic side to fight against celebration

Nowadays, your emotions are on quite the killing spree

I trust you’ve sought a means to circumvent such temptations

And I’m your last stop before consternation roves carefree

I am here for you, the church key for your conservation,

But you need to brave those chapel steps, cross the barren sea,

Up your mind and reach for me, I require no donation,

No collection plate for worship, I find those so empty,

So filled with false promises(..hehe) like cracks in a foundation,

Hidden behind brick and mortar and preaching wannabes

The guarantee is a workstation to sack fulmination

To be the guardian of knowledge for the bourgeoisie

Asking, no pleading they open their eyes, join the vocation,

Forget about those indoctrination ceremonies,

How many times have you crossed your fingers for intimation

Just to suck down the same whispered air that you always breathe

Of notation, have you ever pondered this tribulation,

Why is it the devil’s allowed to be who he wants to be

~~~~

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, where he goes by his pen name ‘pnknucklez’.

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Paul Neglia

Proud father of 3. Part time writer of poetry and short stories. I want to paint the world in but a few words.

Latest posts by Paul Neglia (see all)

• Promises Kept - June 8, 2023
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• Whispers in the Mind - April 26, 2023