Friday, September 30, 2011

slave to the condition

by this caustic vexation
an unending torential rain
of sorts...
I grip desperately, the handle
which explores me
and I bend to the hand
 which holds my plee.
Falling down, still falling
groveling at the feet
something near, unchained
demons -I will retreat...
in my chaos and oblivion-
my fear...
something very softly unspoken
invades my itching ear.
If I should have the answers
and focus on the clarity
these lies unspoken have
their rarity.
Truth be told...
I search till sanity's end.
At my masters will
I begin again...denied
with this denial
I again bend in the trial
fascinated by edges of
roughened lives that claim
I submit to that
which has no name.
failure will come in
repititions of thousands or more
in names so saccarine
pronounce the whore

fascinated by the fascination of
without and there within
drawn by the hopeless
power of men
brought to the reality of
nothing attained
life that is meaningless
a perfect stain

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