Found Wandering
I wandered away from the great benevolence,
Willfully trudging into the shadows of doubt.
I peered into the core of the prosaic sun,
Questioning its power, its perfect light.
I cursed the moon for it’s lucid glow,
Blaming it for my cause and confusion.
I swallowed the pill of self-reliance,
Deeming all great houses to have shoddy walls.
I have allowed the fervor of my heart to succumb to apathy,
Forsaking Venus on an isle of mistrust, for my pleasure alone.
I am forlorn, by my own bitter hand, despite my once beautiful self,
Regretting not what I have become, nor longing for what I once was.
Salvation lies only in a brush with death,
Or in the proof that Venus can be trusted.
Anything less will only further certify that this world is based on desire alone.
In which case:
There is no hope, only Want.
There is no love, only Lust.
There is no soul, only Flesh.
There is no god, only Theory.
Take all you can; you’ll be dead soon.
Copyright © Slight Buckling | Year Posted 2009
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