Friday, February 18, 2011

Every Path Has Its Puddle

Bittersweet the barren path which leaves us cast away, than those traversed in turpitude by those maligning prey.

Don't dig your grave with knife and fork; your own, especially.  Can't trust the world; must look within yourselves, specifically.

A camel's nose within a tent; his body follows suit.  Intrusiveness allowed within destroys; there's no dispute.

Adorning demons within silk; they're demons nonetheless.  It's the evil which resides in them which has you now possessed.

A new broom brought in, sweeping clean; I know I'd let you down.  But electives pinned-down afterwards weren't why I'd lost my crown.

Stolen fruit, the sweetest thing; picked ripely from a tree which others cared for tenderly.  In gardens, there's no fee.

The devil looks after his own, while in your eyes I'm stained.  The devils's own now stands adorned.  I naked; garbed in pain.

The wish is father to the thought; creating thine own cause.  No comfort found in rationales, long after one withdraws.

It takes all sorts to make a world, I'd thought I knew my place; but never thought the sorts I'd chose would lead me to disgrace.

One of these days means none at all; "shall pass" remains unclear.  Will never happen quite that way; shall shoulder it for years.

Anytime still means no time; shan't happen, know it's true.  Beguiled paths adorned with hope, believed in hitherto.

Blood will out, just give it time; true nature will surprise.  Like bubbles submerged forcefully; eventually, they rise.

The die is cast, or so you've said while claiming no control of choices which are volunteered; forsaking now a soul.

Best to lose a saddle now, rather than the horse; an unseen path is what remains.  Are hearts filled with remorse?

Yet half a loaf is better than - none; or so we're told.  Please pardon my ingratitude; all that's left is mold.

All things grow with time - 'cept grief.  But I don't believe that's so.  Perhaps more time is what I need; my path will help me know.

The rains in spring bring forth the blooms; unpleasant, though today.  Tomorrow just extends the cold which winter brings my way.

Those who will the end, it's said, shall also will the means.  Time has come for me though now, crossing my ravines.

Facts speak loud, much more than words - uttered all along.  Inspiration; bitter now - you've finally got your song.

With distance great, shall hearts grow fond?  Shall love then remain strong?  A new path traversed in solitude is where I now belong.

Bittersweet as love can be with those whom we depend - upon to treat us lovingly; Lord, save me from my friends.


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