The Scorched Heart Confession Pt. 2 12. 06. 16

Epigraph: "...Fallen from luster
               To nothingness and scorn
               So fall dark veil
               Softly through the morn..."

This summer the tides of doom sorely imbued me
The dark side of being profusely endued me
Its gift was the pain and ill racking my flesh
And such nasty things in life grieve and abash

I've ne'er felt so spleeny and sick for so long
When I missed the signs which perhaps did forewarn
Me 'bout these morbiferous turns of existence
Increased my opaque to the solid consistence?

Thus named the bleak wold where I ruefully falter -
The vale of the shadow of death from the psalter
And since the last star ceased to gleam in the skies,
My Gloom's grown quite dense to materialize

Now He is the Wall stretching up for the miles
Beside it the rusty chains swing on the piles
Here died my expectancy, love and desire
...I watch how their frail ashes drown in the mire...

The swamp of time vents the malign emanations
I guess, it's empoisoning all the earth's nations
The jerks try to quash our inbred common sense
What we'd set against them? What kind of defense?

And e'en the church surfeiting its bloated popes
Is no more a shrine - it's the charnel of hopes
"The sink of iniquity!" -boiled o'er the Teacher
Today yet the Christ's precepts are to defeature

Some inly hate everything cryptic and daedal
The clerics say 'tween Good and Bad there's no middle
They knock off the brains of the blockheads and duds
To be raised above the dumb herd like the gods

The false democrats spill the rivers of blood
The frantic amuck islamists scream "jihad!"
If I'd meet our Lord, I'd ask: "Why don't you ban it
Until the complete madness shatter our planet?"

But my voice in this universe - huge and global
I deem, won't be heard  and my role's hardly noble
The sun shines the same for the wise and the fools
While we see no Devil who sunders and rules

What can do the one struggling always alone?
The upas within me is long-overgrown
And sad is the fact - in my every night's vision
I'm still with the bygone in steady cohesion

Without wives and kids dreary was my matureness
My poems were glum and my scorched heart was cureless
I shunned the home scenes and the family frays
But also hain't basked in the True Love's warm rays

In sooth it's the myth that's disproved and uncrowned -
Too many distressful examples around
To pass through the marriages and the divorces
Would be just the waste of the psychic resources

The tears for my youth and the decades departed
Are wept and the road of my failures is charted
But as the past haunts me again and again
It whispers : "At least, you could change your rut, man"

Unfortunately, the suggestion is late
'Cause mine and this world's aren't the ways to collate
And really, the fixed route's unable to vary
The bleeding soul's rhymes are my burden to carry

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