The Sentinel
Contributed by
SinginSilence
on
Wednesday, 13th July 2005 @ 01:25:13 AM in AEST
Topic:
ChristianPoetry
|
The Sentinel
Written all in red pen, all is all.
Attempt, simply, for permanence,
Two scribbled down prayers, all is all,
And yet prefer hope o’er common sense?
“What matters?” or “What’s the matter?”
Too tired to care, far too jaded to think.
Innocence welcomes pain, never former to the latter.
Hold my breath to float? Or concede to sink?
Inconstancy! All is all, and all in vain!
Blessed be the victims, blessed be the meek.
Ruined! Grapes on the vine from that ash o’er rain.
Be gone you foxes! There is no rapport to seek.
As a thousand night watchman drift.
The wide mute bars of the gate,
Powerless witnesses to grains a sift,
Into the mind’s eye, a trap-less bait.
No, not the desperate’s death is invited.
Alas, who am I to turn such a stranger away?
My virus, my cut, none left to fight it,
None, but that drifting watchman’s delay.
As I shout from the house from my bed,
See there! And stop the reasoned demise!
They feast on the vines; all is torn red.
Too tired, the guard lain down by lies.
Then they flee, scatter as the flocks,
Rise sentry; see two prayers by my pall?
Obliviated grapevine, not a print of the fox.
Both written in time, in that red pen to all.
Copyright ©
SinginSilence
... [
2005-07-13 01:25:13] (Date/Time posted on
site)
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