I Hereby Present Myself Before The World’s Judgment

***

A shadow veils two worlds.
A touch trades
Security for freedom.
Fall’s foliage fades grey with passing days.
Winter’s eye looks upon me expectantly—
Promises were made.

An artist may indulge upon green hope.
A vain voice urges
Sending the product of madness
Astray in the world.
Directionless, we wander
Purposefully toward chasms
Of unmeasured depth.

So seldom does kindness
Meet blind intent. Marks
Are interpreted. Gashing brush
Strokes are critiqued.
The skill was never truly there.
The style was off,
And the attitude
Did not conduce
With recollection.

Yet, time moves as she wishes,
Hobbling ahead with
Hands intertwined.
Uncertainty
Mingles with blind faith.
The young are swept away
By hands of God or King.

I submit
If you insist.
Never was
It my choice.
Anyways,
Call it a moral victory;
I am beat.

Stalwart boulders
Steadily erode as
Passing remarks.
Curious stares
And pitiful squeals
Wiggle between the cracks
And weakened points.
Torn fingers struggle
To grip onto the ground.
My mind could float
Off with a stream
Poisoned from the red paint
Brushed upon our doors.

So here I find myself.
Presenting for the first time;
My naked, distorted, and scarred
Body thrown forth for all to see.
No longer will my voice echo protest.

Defense is futile.
Silence will not guard me,
But it is less effort.
All come to touch
And to gaze
Upon a creature
Such as myself.

Masks obscure their faces;
A deterrence in case
I am contagious.
Children laugh.
Whispers compound
With my mind’s depreciation.

The moon’s tears create
New constellations
As she watches
The light
Burn another
Of her children.

The paint has escaped.
It runs dry and cracked.
The canvas, once struck
A shade of crimson, has since
Faded to shit brown.

No good will come
From my escape.
Never seen
A second chance
Thrown aside till now.
This time,
There will be no tears,
For pain and pleasure
Will cease offering comfort.

The world need not embrace me.
I walk confidently
With eyes unwavering
From the sun’s splintering rays.

Never again will man look upon me.
My fangs bare curses.
My spit froths.
My armor has long deteriorated.
Yet, feral feelings persist.

We live in an irrational time
For irrational souls to fear
Nothing but abdication.

Referenced In:

• Dear Anima
• Sylvie’s Poetry Portfolio