The Apostate
Oh relieve me, for I suffer upon a post inscribed with regrets
The moon does not bleed through the windows of my soul
The nocturne is as long as the abyss is vast above my drooping head, yet I fantasize of Ra’s fiery reach above my mountains of contrition
Oh Vamoose! I am merely a weight upon your scale of fate!
A wretched man for which death awaits, a damned soul bound by hate!
Do not mourn me, beloved fellow, so I may fade in solemnity!
Life has made me bitter in conscience, yet self-effacing, I welcome the rays of creation to deem me reborn from this being to the next.
A Fern in the Swamp
On the edge of murky waters, you may spot me in limbo. Here I am, trapped within the slimy marsh of my mind attempting to spread my spores so I may grow away from my treacherous captivity. With a burning desire, I seek to populate the desolate, rocky, heart-shaped cave far from me. Alas, the winds do not blow where I would wish to go, so I must abide my time. Like smoke from a blaze, I will be lost in the breeze, not yearning, no, thirsting for the chance to touch my heart. And to drink the waters of love which stream from inside.