J. I. Thomas F. Poet Rhyme

Corrosion of the Will

O acid! How you slither soft upon the skin and melt the marrow deep within,
but better that my bones are lost than my will,
which you seem to have such a strange interest in. 
Where did you hail from, o acid?
What fiendish land spawned you and why did you depart
to assault my sharpest senses and constrict my paling heart?
Before you, I thought that conviction was the ease,
though now the very thought of it roils my stomach.
Control, in truth, the burden, for in short time one who keeps
secure lock upon themself will surely triumph
no matter the task;
this I surely know. 
And if that, then I know you too, o fiend.
Acid drawn from the deepest pits of my own unchecked appetite. 
The collapse comes from within,
and, from without, you return again. 

26 April 2018

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