literature

Deaths Bright Ray of Hope

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Literature Text

Death’s Bright Ray of Hope
a song of marriage

You beguiled me
Your need and your softness were just what I needed
The cautions of friends, of my heart, cast to the wind

You took my dreams
Your broken soul had none of it’s own
I thought them mine when you spoke them back to me

You matched me
Draw for draw, want for need,
Your wounds, ensorcelled my need to heal

I thought it was odd
That you shared my interests, no one else ever had
But for a moment of time

And we danced
Through Time and Space you matched my lead
But you never missed a step

And Time Passed
As I thought you a woman you are not
I missed the signs of Madness

You chained me
With bonds of DNA, flesh and responsibility
And later, plated gold

You uncloaked yourself then
And I saw you for what you are, protean and foul
With no soul of your own

You reviled me,
You took my needs and twisted them in my guts
The cautions of friends, of my heart came true

You took my dreams
And deliberately with malice, eradicated them
One by one, with no clean earth to grow more

You matched me
But only on a field of battle would you meet
To emasculate me, to flense my soul

I thought it was odd
That you blamed me for your Soul, and the Scars
Those really are your father’s cocks

And we dance
But only that I might avoid the blows of your fists
But you never miss my face

And Time Passes
I live in hellish Limbo, I would choose not
To become the signs of Madness

You’ve chained me
With bonds of DNA, flesh and responsibility
And Death’s Bright Ray of Hope
This is difficult to submit,

It is hard to look bald-faced at ones own mistakes,
and to drag them in the sunlightis harder still.

The dichotomy I feel about my wifes illness is a major
source of guilt I have yet to eradicate, perhaps this will
explain some of it, of why I have mixed feelings at all.

Be gentle my friends - this is the ugly part of me.
© 2005 - 2024 Metatetron
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hemlock170374's avatar
Amazing, the poem and the coincidence.
In my journal there is an account
of the same experience,
so much similar, they could be made into one poem.
Or maybe there is no coincidence here.
It is just that mankind repeats itself so much.
It is just that for a few awake people
who need no peacock feathers to convince anyone
that they are attractive,
there is so many more sleepers,
ignorant of respect and love
but hellishly smart in wearing feathers,
hellishly smooth in selling things that really look like what you need,
only for inevitably becoming themselves
when they think it is time.
And... they are all... the same...

But awake we are,
them, awake only looked.
And we can then remember ourselves
and the pain is belittled
to not much more than a nuisance,
like if a kid had insulted us.


...