blacksheep by Erin WerleA black sheep amongst all the children of a father whom I've e'er spurned,
through bleak mountain pass, and sweltering desert, I've carried all I have earned;
a straining back lifts an unbearable weight; a world of reminiscence on my shoulders,
and through thick and thin, my wear-toughened skin, deflects unseen agony; still I grow colder.
The scorned sinner walks betwixt a myriad of saints, dodging the pure, bless'd souls,
sated by only my dignity's whispers, and the peace of these grass-enslaved knolls.
A cathedral of angels, fallen from grace, and an indistinct twitter of sanguine oppression,
amidst a sorrowful song, borne on wings ever-gone, lies a foreign shadow of tortured discretion.
Sinking my sorrow in alleged heresy; fornication of bitter, and fraudulent fools,
the sweetest concoction, a die-cast distraction; a litter created with thin paper tools.
Unfettered; I'm chained to the depths of indulgence, forbidden my void 'hind oblivion's walls,
seamless madness pervades; incoherency aids all the depths of insanity to which I shall fall.
A trepid endeavor to heights of a cold-hearted, ground-splitting throne,
I'm pretending to misunderstand, a beautiful dream fades away; now unknown.
An intrepid denial of whimsical nothings, embroiled in passionate, frivolous lies,
a pigment of dreaming, devoid of my screaming, where visions of you fill my enraptured brown eyes.
07/03/2003 Posted on 07/04/2003 Copyright © 2024 Erin Werle
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