The Will to Believe

Almost a revelation, almost…
The wise words of the wanderer
drift about as a clinging ghost,
when the thrill of life is whatever.

But not for me, not for me —
the neon lights are lying,
not even the kiss of a corpse
from the memories of the dying.

We all live for but one reason —
for want of the to be encountered.
Yet what lies in this infection?
Are not the heavens so festered? 

This is almost a crusade —
a duty of the corrupted artist,
in a tornado is this parade,
playing the mortal catalyst.

Published in: on 08/06/2018 at 12:13 AM  Leave a Comment  

The URI to TrackBack this entry is:

RSS feed for comments on this post.

To thyself be true my friend

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: