Mother Charity

Imbibe my soul...and taste
The cloying nectars from a man who lives
Within the body of a fiend...who breathes
Within the body of a beast...Whose eyes
pervade the puzzles of a waning boy
When in the face of reason always cow'ring
When forced to gaze
To brush the jewel'd and gawdy skin
Of succubi Of siren heroines
When brought to drink such pious fluids from the breath of prayer
Often cow'ring
Splendor - Still she croons me with carillons
Hopeful bells of reason - Casting mis'ry to his chasm
Where he listens ever-cautiously -
lest whimp'rings from this boy
be heard...
YET STILL SHE SINGS!!!
To a beast as me...whose twisted necks of woodland creatures
Just to hear the echo of a snap
Just to watch once docile bodies shake
Pinched by ravaged bones Beneath my trap
A fiend as me...Whose spat foul phrases twards those insecurities...
Just to see the tears roll down red cheeks
...skulking t'wards frown'd grins
encroached
....defeated
A man as me who wanted nothing more than to survive
The raging storm
The wailing winds
Such yelping doldroms
Aphotic clouds
Swirling as if puppeted
From the hands of my dellusion
Leaving mem'ries in its path embanished
To the marshes of my own denial...
AND STILL SHE SINGS!!!
She sings to me with fluting winds of charity
Still nourishing my life...in all its pain
THis poet's point is such...
If splendor, mother charity has seen it fit to sprinkle such a beast
ill fiend, wicked beggar, scounderal man!
With happiness - omnipotent reprieve
Such a fate may lie for the most broken of god's dolls
Seek the beauty and ye shall recieve