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A PAIN CLOUD ON HORROR’S HORIZON

I’ve tilled the tired soil on which a torn man toils
I’ve tread the fettered flag on which an aspiring asp coils
I’ve stared into the face of ghosts, goblins and gargoyles
I’ve eaten slop from troughs of rot that time finally spoils
I’ve sworn on The Bible the sordidness of sin sometimes soils
I’ve done all this but done it all in vain
And I’ve suffered rain that stains the Painted Desert while traveling on in pain

I’ve re-read the sad ending to the same tale a hundred thousand times
I’ve heard the meaning in the meter to a million too many rhymes
I’ve lived the life of a maniacal man and the malice of his countless crimes
I’ve seen sodden sorrow in the silence of a well-trained troupe of mimes
And I’ve been stranded at the apex of a mountain only a fool so foolishly climbs

I’ve been blessed by the best and suffered at the hands of the worst of times
And yet the tale gets no less sorrowful after it’s been rehearsed a hundred thousand times
The soil I’ve tilled is no less arid even after a biblical flood
And I’ve irrigated this field with both my sweat and my body’s blood
I’ve never been vindicated and vilified by violence and sadly it’s all been done in vain
And to a sinner such as myself the Painted Desert’s dryness just means further pain

So if you are like me do not expect vindication from a sanctified and sanctioned rain
Because in the end the frustration of fruitlessness by fallowness is made perfectly plain
Alas, both my field and the desert will never grant nor grow any life sustaining grain
Yet I will trod further upon the soil in vehement vain and through rampaging and rampant rain
But take note that I will be doing it as I suffer the wrath of patently persistent pain 
    © 2012…copyright..PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
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