Spiritual Aphasia
Thrice divided am I in why. Fighting my flight response with determination to make
might right. No slight of hand or devilish spite. Plain and right, the soul's trident. Lack of
action spites my plight. Fear of destiny rears the thorned head and blinds with laser
calibrated lightness of sight. No longer can I claim 'why' but 'why not'. No soft option or
blotted white, only purest truth. To know is blasphemy and I can't afford that. Height is
a blessing but only for lords of serenity and need for solace. I have no title, no name,
no space for placing blame on nameless phrases. So I bow to cowards and pray the
devout will set pace. Scroll erased and made a torch for clouded eyes and cavernous
synapses. But I collapse under my own hate and scream 'I!' Meat and light aren't in
fight but shame is the remaining course. Of course, my hoarse will run and be weary in
cemeteries of me's. Please in sand filled fists. Kiss her away and slay what is left. Flip
the wild flight in the white spaces between fate and the places I'll go to show fate her
reflection and mine.
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