Here at the end of everything, there births a stretching void.
The frail echos of that which was, in history alloyed.
And as the final heat escapes, as path and word grow old,
The frigid sacred flame of fear is cast upon the fold.
The congregation quarrels, on thousand wisdoms choke.
The priestess sheds a smiling tear to sanctify the joke.
Each and all cower and sing, we cringe as we are thrown,
To worlds so unpredictable, hostile and unknown.
Bless this sharp uncertainty, wielding her blade of flame.
Remember we're all here to die,
Free from fetid name.
Offline)
Comments1
tarnished by residue dirt, we accrue
ducking, life's zeal for chaos
and lamenting our warped, fortunes
of good intentions by the majority
being poisoned
by the selfish few of society's, forsaken;
who climb to prominence
on wings of self intrust and ambitious self reliance..
this, be our cyclical duality
of humourless, absurdity
this, dear Poet
be, what your words of insightful
poetic damnation, showcase
a succinct poetic portrayal
of that pitifully, entangled states
humanity ends-up, trying to free itself from
disaster after disaster
generation after generation
'fetid name'
after, bleak
'fetid namelessness'
(a great write!
of poignantly Timely, commentary
thanks for sharing)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.