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Sordid is He
It falls upon his skin with a vision implying instruction
When it poured it went black behind unwilling lids
A flash that lasts too long
Who is it that haunts the waking hours?
Each greeting image growing vividly deranged
I'm questioning the everything
Why need I comprehension so far from me
Estranged into his minds eye
Frustration with no visible end
Aimlessly searching, a crazed impossible mission
To grasp imminent torture
Examination of powers that be
A broken spell or a goddess gift
Gateway to a plain a terrain of lucidity
Dreaming of red ribbon, relevant and symbolic
Black silken entity reflects from needy hands
pulling down below an ebony sky into
flesh filled ground
Sudden eerie calm
Approach of sacred day
blessed be the hour of life
Pouring into him shifting
An ancient passage rite
With avail on the rise
Stealth us into the night
Longing the trek
Cradle him close, binding our trust
entwined into knots,
to perceive and cure
Unshield his vision
Allowing for sight
unite his perspectives
enlighten his life
Vote for this poem
Sordid is He
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