The Lie
The Lie
Has this candle lit vandal come tearing its lament
To augment such weary marches of sorrow
All weeping configured the fingers of fate
To turn molded clay to the empty vessel of a soul
Heartless gold plated grinning reminder
Of shattered silk doors of sin
Thrown wide to deceitful imperious walls
Where scratched each breath of hope and denied the softest touch
Foul echo of triumph born by flightless wings
Its truce delivered on the drunken mutterings of fools
Nailed in their fickle easy clamouring
For tasteless gilded shells and inconsequent meaning
By mediocrity dazzled in consummate tears
So readily bloated fall in their thick passages of treasure
Broken amidst perfumery and powders wasteland of plastic
Triumphant beguiling of salvation
The perceiving vista procured to grand a compromise
Belittled in the preference of trash
Agreeing on indistinct monuments
And shunned the solitary deliverance of truth
Inescapable nondescript insipid vandals
Bemoaning their wretched use
And defiled by fate their heartless whit
To ignorance is made consummate
All proposal of the innocent
Gathered to worshipful psalms
On a blankets bland demand of deceit
Copyright © Colin Mitchell Williams | Year Posted 2008
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