Unforgiven
Set on a dissertation painted ebony
With the cancellation brushstrokes of despair;
Night in her starless petticoats
Curtsied on teraformed life
Repeating itself in stammered facsimiles.
Glazed by whiskey priest sermons
Slurred and deformed in gin-joint churches,
The blood of Christ mainlined the pulpit,
Seemed to rush hour in the veins
Draping red mist on the dream.
A far better thing never done,
Sacrificed caring and chain-sawed heart,
Grit of numb teeth against the hurt,
Ultimate reason for staying expired
And turned to dust-blown vacancy.
On the empty stoop with glitching lungs,
Sagged and wept a hitching song
Of desolate love in wasteland parameters
Impeached and curtailed by feeling too much,
Wept a song of the unforgiven.
Would she ever acknowledge his true blood,
How much the bankrupt soul aspired
To proffer in worship of her persona?
Unlikely, so in the hanging head of sundown
Wept a song of the unforgiven.
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005
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