Woe to the lurid Night.
Eye of scorn the feverish delight.
That innocence reels at such a hex.
As such a power Good sensibilities vex.
Tis, my blessing a vibrant curse.
As I get better I get the worse.
It’s like a door way is open in my mind.
Yet the world’s secrecy makes acknowledgement hard to find.
Here I, in a closet in a prison.
Shedding hairs of screaming crimson.
Yearning Nay ransacking the earth for sooth.
All the people know but they will not hear the truth.
They have been bound together in a pledge.
Like the beauty of a rose bush cut down or a crooked hedge.
Yet they are worried about my particular fate.
That it happen to them and their life comes up late.
So I will try my best to cringe up and Play along.
Giving little room for my little searching song.
To roll no more intransigent nor in passion ruddy.
To enjoy my Girl and happenstance buddy.
To sit in silence and learning to better my art.
To think normal as Kant or Sarte’.
Yet Lord help me learn friendly social interaction.
So I will not be some separate faction.
All my own I’ll join the common decency of the earth.
In my repentance shall I be true to my second birth.
Poetry