Woe, woe what shall I make of this
Parched land, infecund lamb, a season amiss
This transient love, a momentary respite
The maniacal and obscure scatter of twilight
I’m no longer a friend to love and to life
My covenant is bonded to the shadows of my might
I fight against the blight, a sickness of the mind, of the mind and of the sight
I want what is not and what is not exists in me
My deliverance of self, an unceasing soliloquy
I have gone against my nature, that which is unknown
The sustenance that comes from the marrow of cleft bone
Defile my body and gather crust and supple skin
I long for days that bare my soul open to sin
MyPoeticHeart 