Pain Pricks the Heart of the Beholder

Don’t denounce me when I weep Soaking blows right, left and centre From angled arrows that keep Galumphing near my fort vying to enter The crib the moon loathes Which the venom sunshine can’t sear While sadness bothers To rain pain and fear with the clear Motive to abuse my space and stretch the surface On which horror refuses to die or lie As it rears its Dracula face To feed my parched mouth the poisoned pie I strive to expel While ebbing strength and determination Cry to exhale As intimation of incriminating information Smears my spine with the ice Whose temperature challenges the lowest Kelvin While each slice of its frozen price rolls a die that doesn’t suffice When far from fruition floats Melvin To ask me why I cry Grown and gone alone as I am Although rows and crows of sorrows multiply Cursing the slum That moulded the character I hold In my person As life travails succor withhold To teach me the lesson Life feels I deserve For excelling at school At the forefront of the erudition preserve Life feels makes me a flamboyant fool.