Can I still believe in magic
While reality runs rampant?
Ravaging my rathers; static crackles
Happen, manic hackles have it.
Shackled to this maddening, morose
Monstrosity and cackles;
Spackling on tragic toasts that drone.
Tackling audacities I spoke 'til mind is running
Cracked, gobsmacked, rabid, and alone.
Badlands, braggadocious backhands
Demanding sour notes.
Smacking stones with dour laughs,
Grafting oaks to oceans,
Hoping to withstand, outlast
These rasping, ashen tones.
Alas.
Aspirating dirges, earthen urge for dirt;
My pasts intractable,
Enacted to protraction,
As my curse.
Atoning in this curdled scourge of hurt I cast;
Accident?
Or acrid machinations still intact?
Swirling psychopathic providence
Interred in dominance of pacts with patterned
Practicum of cognizance still gnawing on it,
Tragically coerced;
What's worse, in fact?
Acrimoniously moaning, blown open;
Actions holding to the mire of this
Dire, blinding moat of mental notions.
Mortifying flights from loneliness and gauche denials.
Dreaded trying tempest that attests a testament
Of unrest,
All the while relishing duress and wrathful matters made
My domicile.
Trials,
Fumbling and scrying crumbs by rote.
Roving ponderous and plodding,
Lauding plots and possibilities,
Yonder gaping maw bespoke.
Nodding towards the trees, and leaves;
Subtle, supple greenery,
Teasing of the piecemeal eachness.
Steaming in bereaving sentiment of
Hell's descent I've gleaned.
Scenery that hefts
My reckless lechery for recompense.
Afloat in surreptitious tryst
With misguided guesses;
Betting desperately on hoarded tokens that profess
An ever lessening impression,
Less distressing than the sights I find,
When both my eyes have finally
Awoken from this mess.
Managing aghast and spastic,
Tracking baggage in a sea of thieves unknown.
Reeling ravenous and ragged,
Deemed demeaning tragic malady
By seeds that I have sewn.
Gasping at what's grown amassed;
Raft of words I float on, choke on,
In this gauntlet full of
Gaunt and ghastly tropes.
Seeking Home inside the Holy Spirit and its nearness:
I hear,
And though in fear,
I feel it, and know.
Below blows bellows,
Slowly opening within this din;
Soldiering through smattered pastures,
Passages and practical disasters,
Tactical telemetries and sin.
Stolen souls,
Smoldering and smote,
Broken for the sake of my chagrin;
Battles,
Back-alley bastards,
Cast of daggers
That enact
The ravages that last within.
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