Desunti Fidei
The walls close in, the anger does not diminish, and the solitude does not alleviate the pain with in. What once was prosperous is now barren, what once was joy-inflicting is now retrospect. The life led, now becomes a mockery of its ineptness. The dream envisioned now becomes a fleeting glance of reality.
I know what I want, but I don’t possess the ability to attain it. I know what I need, but I am not packing the charisma to portray it. I know what I crave, and I am uncertain that I will ever taste it.
I know what I want, but either fate or sincerity bars me from possible heaven.
The walls shrink closer, my shame ever growing, but visions react randomly and the tribulations remain errant acts of self-ratification.
The walls close in, time pushes on, and life retains the ability to recover, as the soul reaches for a quest beyond its means.
A glimpse of the future, pressed by lures of the past, lead me only to submission of the present. Rebellion seems proper, but the energy wanes. Mutiny is the call to arms, but inspiration for justice has been lost. Dissension looms near and I look deep within and find nothing willing to cooperate.
Visions permeate my waking sight, dementia floods my sleeping perception, while simple illusion torments my every breath. Answers are not forthcoming, and conclusions are more rare.
Irrationality creeps in, seductive with its wiles, fate departs for more succulent territory and hope dwindles from its missing components. Reality shifts, memories hone to what shouldn’t be recollected, and reliance on everything once buoyant fades into darkness.
The vision once adored abruptly changes to the madness fiercely fought, and the universe now seems tender in its acceptance of failure.
The perception of life, the perception of love, the perception of a-shot-in-hell-that-you-are-not-the-only-sick-bastard-left-in-this-realm, the perception that magnanimous interdiction may one day contain the ingredients for lucidity holds…
Hope saturates the body, hope infiltrates the mind, hope confiscates the point of being while promising that it is consequential.
If anything appropriate can be conceded, then faith may once again penetrate the periphery of hate, and one day succumb to the palpability of relevance.
Life contains more than the offered scenario, it holds what is desired and what is required. It holds inclination and direction, while donating both and supplying suffering.
Death lingers around the corner, waiting…waiting…for the implausible to interfere and the unlikely to become a bastion of light, warding off the minions of the night.
The perception of life degenerates with every breath. The faith in life acclimates the minutia remaining and conforms it to proper derivatives. The perception of like is just that: a perception.
If everything that presented itself
Would immediately be worthwhile
Then life would spring anew
And everyone would have to smile
But pain interrupts the monotony
And scars us with unwanted traces
That reminds us of the vile past
And those erratically found places.
If exultation, somehow, remained
Or life was ultimately consistent
Then maybe a chance might be taken
To prove this is a beneficial existence.
Rebirth
With every breath, life denies ability
But each end contains a rebirth
Yet never a compromise of stability
Or chance on this tired earth.
Dimensions entertain lucidity
While conscience breeds calamity
And motions hold no fluidity
While dipping into insanity.
Illusion madly intervenes
Upon the premise once sublime
As conclusion slowly convenes
On the only hope I had in mind.
Branded
Perception demands acceptance
Dementia defines loneliness
Mortality grasps for a voice
That might be heard before
Death imparts its sinister way.
A mark is always welcome
An imprint is happily instilled
A reason for the scars becomes
A proud reason to be branded.
The body bares the wounds
Of every hurt inflicted
The soul reveals each agony
With stoicism
But the mind cannot continue
If nothing is left to facilitate.
Perception demands acceptance
Inclination defies rationality
And love changes into a mask
Of promises, with out the hope
Of menial comprehension.
Pulse
As the tension mounts
As the waiting continues
As the horror beckons
The only sliver of life
Of proof
Is the pounding
Of my heart in my ears.
Life creates pain
Love begets agony
Blood makes noise
And the pulse
Is all that centers me.
Vision tinges red
Touch unknown
Breathing erratic
And taste nothing more
Than what was wanted
Now nauseating.
The knowledge crushing
The ache unbearable
Leaves only blood
And its pulse to show
That existence is there.
Angels
The temptation of life
The sense of recognition
The hope that
Anything will be
Momentous
Per my attentions
Remains undecided
And conquered
As life defines life.
Nothing admits
Value more than
Chance
Nothing exudes faith
More than the dream
Of spiritual bliss.
The temptation of hope
The phantom
Of conceptions
The knowledge
Of dreams
Deter my
Capacity for growth.
Of City
Dimensions of truth
Hold only passages
Of lies never known
Or wanted.
Details are important
If only for
A brief moment
Discrepancies are
Principal to
Understanding
The core of
A mentality
Better left unexplored.
Direction points
To nothing but
Diversion from
Reality.
Dimensions prove
That life is
Volatile
Notions are
Indiscriminate
And options are
Random at best.
Dimensions of truth
Hold nothing
But facets of
What has been denied
And what has not
Been offered.
???
If it were only the quest
And not the crusade
That steered me towards
A better glimpse of life.
Too much has been shown
Too much has been denied
Too much has been buried
And the only vestige of peace
Hides among the shards
Of shattered sanity
And the precept that
It will someday
Eventually correct itself.
But the quest is lost
The crusade is damned
And the prospect that
Direction is viable
Leads only to the belief
That thought is inherent
And death is necessary.
Life Before
The breath before
Was hollow and cold
The life before
Was shallow and worn
The light before
Was dim and distant
Until you appeared
Before me
Then the smell
Became sweet
Taste became
Precious
The light
Radiant.
And then it was gone.
A part of me died
A part that had
Just been born
A piece recently found
As quickly as it
Was discovered
Had been slain.
The nectar once
Desirable
The touch once
Blissful
Returns to empty
Distance of indifference.
But the pain slowly
Subsides
Each breath continues
For I am accustomed
To that part of me
Being dead.
© 2009 Ravenai
