My Heart Full of Grace
In these time of duress, having clandestine pleasures, ennui prevails, as we
dream of the gallows, while puffing on a hookah, filled with something I will not
reveal; we foster a caricature, with maybe a slight hint of pleasure as pestilence
buds forth under an invisible shield of an angel, drunk with sunlight and playing
in a forest like a bird of wing, while calling on ancient idols with an admiring heart
with purest essence, and that are blessed with ranks of sanctified legions having
an eternal feast of throne, powers, and dominions, while realizing that pain is a
nobility beyond the jaws of earth and hell, as our mortal eyes open in the
morning, trying to see the fires of hell that await those of us that withdraw from
troubles, during our cloudy existence, and like the lark in free flight that soars
above life and understanding. My heart aches for the pleasure of loving, the most
divine creature, standing alone in her window or sitting in her tree, waiting for her
love to fly into her arms, with a love no one can erase, and like a liquor divine and
pure, my heart full of grace.
Copyright © Kenneth Fordham | Year Posted 2008
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