I Hope You Hear

Come closer,
Feel my breath,
Like the bitter winter bile,
Holding onto you,
Trailing mile by mile,
Never coming closer,
For I stay,
Forever futile.

My tangled self lay broken,
Somewhere in the dark,
In past a prodigy,
And now without a mark,
Neither smell which one can find,
Nor sound of any kind,
Only feelings left to dry,
Salted under sky,
Staring at the sun,
Mindless to the burn.

I have lost,
O how have I lost,
For not rhyming at every cost,
For being against the wind,
For scribbling on ivory tower,
For passing without a pause,
By thrones of men in power.

Perhaps my delicate hand,
Had gestured something rude,
To test the biased scales,
By indeed doing good,
But the blind, apostle of Justice,
Had her eyes on me after all,
I with my own kingdoms,
Buried behind my wall.

For she came to me unbidden,
One night with the stars all dying,
Holding their splinters,
As witness to my lying,
Asking me to confess,
My two faced, scarlet tricks,
My fallen casuist ways,
And my skin of metal bricks.

And they of noble heart,
Whom I raised from graveyards lay,
And they of proud profession,
Did not even pray,
When I was dragged, bones bound,
Collared as maddened hound,
For slipping their truths,
In crystal cups of lie,
My brethren saw me leaving,
And not a hand raised for goodbye.

Author: TheHumanAnvil

I find poetry as a gentle reminder, a medium to relay and dwell upon all things considerate people find inconsiderate. Poetry as an art is akin to a lamp or a magnifying glass. It trails volumes of meaning behind obscure, vague words. I have been writing for a time now, and intend to do so for the time to come. And hopefully, hopefully, hope that one day, someday, a person stumbling across this veil of words, find it alluring enough to shift aside the curtain and peer, into the eyes of the naked truth which sways with the wind of reason. If you have any thoughts, it would be my pleasure to know them, if you don't then it would be a pleasure to not. Be my guest. This feast of words is for you.

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