Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Poetry Wednesday 15 May 13


At which point does low end,
Where does abyss begin?
How deep is the void in the fowl's eyes,
That prey on the darkness so quiet.
A winter season so withering, speechless its morning, fear in its quake.
I wonder is this the paradise Hell speaks of,
No heart for love, no mind for good.
Where selflessness is the charity, donation for disaster,
Every blood drop, from the tip of the knife is hate's revenge on love.
Schizophrenic peace, must be wars sanity,
Deprived soul, a wind in a vessel quilt together.
The scream to be let go, but trapped till death decays the bond that holds.
Pleasure the inner covet, the flesh weak, and quick to envy.
So it embarks on a journey into ego,
Unknowingly it will reach low.
Unsatisfied by the taste, goes on to find the ingredient to enhance the aromatic artefact.
Only to find the journey is to a place at the end of low,
And the beginning of abyss where this lonely fortress holds.

By David Worlanyo

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