Butterflies of color,
Blue, green, red and a mist of gale,
Robots with valor,
To see should be to hold but they all be stale,
35ers and 90ers they all be in manner,
Concocts of a heavenly hell.
Mumbles, wild with the wine from Kana,
Would be damned if I sounded more sense than a bell.
Drink from the grail all ye knights,
With dark pasts and crosses as thick as death,
Rub your wounds with rum all nights,
Your fears and nightmares are no myth,
So high you may fly as so do the kites,
A blessed honor of pain you’ve born from birth,
Spare me the rhetoric of your fights,
With demons and angels and all the aftermath.
You survive for mercy, not your own,
The angel of fury and death hears none of your mourns,
Red haired royals and blue eyed thugs he uses as pawns,
His mocks and taunts are all you’ve known,
Down in his pits you’ll fall from dusk till dawn,
For you’ve been called to be that counsel to whom all weight must be born.
Your inner self drowned; inner man drenched with scorn,
Your soul so laden, your world is earth torn.
I see a reflection of me in you,
Soul faded, I barely have a conscience,
Always wishing and dreaming all could come a new,
I should have held onto the illusion called patience,
The belief in all numbers that are labeled few,
It should have been more giving and less taking,
More praying not the damn Candy.
It should’ve been my tears at the altar,
Not the grisly dimes and chimes.
I could’ve done one thing right,
One thing to please He who has all might,
One thing to take my weight away,
One thing to bring me redemption.
And save me the emotions,
Of despair, of remorse;
That I’ve lived a life of no use,
A life so believed yet not so lived,
Of less living and more abuse.
I’ll stare in the dark bowels of hell,
And wish the flashes and fleshes I’ll find,
Good books, bad books to this end they tell,
Of the pains and fears not known to mankind.
Rome will fall,
The little heaven of Nyanama too will fall,
No soul shall redemption find,
With claws drawn and sins of all kind,
Souls will be so shaken, hearts will creak in fits,
In the dead of night the dead shall wake to my screams,
The living shall see me in their dreams,
Living and loving as is in college teams.
No wishes. No horses to ride,
No kisses. No Moses to change the tide,
A groom so doomed with no place to hide,
I’ve embraced pain, my eternal bride,
Now my cup’s full and drinking it I must abide.
© A #Zimwe Creation 2011/chapter six/abstract episodes/madness-cycles