son of a…

as the son
of a sadist

unsworn servitude
has withered my will

and left me
to brood

for sorrow is certain

through self-sabotage

existence
a sentence
of sordid mirage

worn

the endless hour
unravels

we writhe
under the moor

as earth arrives
unsung in reverie

fateless,
evermore

at once
the sun had risen

through sanity’s remorse

our faces
worn

amidst the arbors

lost
within god’s door

Infernal Dialogue

curse this whole contrivance
where our pen perverts our thoughts
bastardizing our expression
into ostentatious dross

which, indeed, is most ironic
even now, i must abide
by the terms of its imposing
despite how it makes me writhe

were it only that i could resist
the pretense of the mind
set upon me with insistence
i am loathe not to comply

for the state of my affliction
disallows for deviation
from its ardent homeostatic
cognitive disposition

so beholden to its power
though emboldened by the hour
i am helpless to assert my will
and thus, i lay here, dour

tenses past

such finite truths
shall yet unfurl

as we await

unwitting.

the tragedy
of days, unending

the trill of earth afoot.

how tender
is the untrained eye

which falls
upon the burdened hallow

writhing
in its sense
of self

to leave this place
no more.

allow these failings

fear no loss

for freedom
bears no will

i trust.

in tenses past

imploring, e’er

with sovereignty
forsworn