If Dullness Be Your Plunder
63.
If Dullness Be Your Plunder
Speech be silence gone amiss
But if speech be ne'er to be.
Choose words with some conviction
Lest you dare to weary me.
Tell a story worth remembering...
Peak my interest with a plot.
Dazzle me with its eccentricities...
Leave me speechless on the spot.
But if dullness be your plunder
And prattle the order of the day.
Cease with your banality...
Just turn and walk away.
The End
64.
Sincere Apologies
Sincere apologies to all concerned...
For the burdens left behind.
Know this true... I shan't return
To plague impeccant
Minds.
There was utter folly to my madness
That masked a blackened heart.
I trafficked in misery and sadness
To tear this world
Apart.
Has there ever been upon this Earth
A man more pitiful than I?
Letting the winds of chaos fester
While fear and trepidation
Chance collide.
That a mother should have given voice
To one so barnacled with shame...
As minions of the underworld rejoice
At the mere cackle of my
Name.
But at this hour, striving for exemption
Knowing faith be lost...
I take a wild stab at redemption
Hoping to offset some future
Cost.
My regrets lie heaped and stacked...
Tis a weight I cannot bear.
Thus I perish with one last noble act
To seek forgiveness in your
Prayers.
I've made the Earth a better place
By choosing not to be...
Trusting Heaven opens up a space
For one as cursed as
Me.
Please accept this late confession as
I take my final breath.
As I ponder now the question...
Is there mercy after death?
Thus...
When light has seen the end of day
And all is well with thee.
Take just a moment to convey
Some blessed thought of
Me.
The End
65.
The Hourglass
The night be well upon me...
The hourglass has had its run.
The graveyard beckons hither...
I feel the setting of my sun.
Death holds no consternation...
I am well on sacred ground.
And the hourglass I mentioned...
Well...
I'll just turn it upside down.
66.
Live By The Sword...
Religion beacons many forms...
Not just those who seek the cross.
Some climb majestic mountains
While others search for what is lost.
Some hope to find the burning bush...
Others claim the soul divine.
There are those who cheer the wrath of God
To keep the dregs in line.
But the worst of all religions...
The one to fill my soul with dread.
Is the hate and vile malevolence
That those on Twitter spread.
They menacingly worship at an alter
Proliferating a stench of scabbed flesh...
They rip and tear their neighbors
To feed demons in the press.
How does one who walks this Earth
Come to such a sorry state?
The only thing that comes to mind...
They must margin from their hate.
If hate's the currency of their passion...
Then false prophets must collide.
Thus when Twitter deems them expendable...
They'll have nowhere left to hide.
The End
Copyright © David Mchattie | Year Posted 2022
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