Walkin on Air

Spiked Dreams

Scents of future failure permeate
every pore of my tortured soul,
test and trial threats exacerbate
with unspeakable treason foul
the betrayal of my faith.

As a child I laid me down to sleep,
comfy, tucked in fluffy swaddle,
layers of prayers my heart would keep
at arms-length from lip-service twaddle
pious dumb-waiters serve.

Life's pendulum has swung, swansong's sung,
cynical finger-pointing fails;
incredulity counts but as dung:
I plunge in death's vortex, my head flails,
numb on life's bed of nails!

by Oraculus on September 23, 2015.   All rights reserved

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Spiked Dreams

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