I, Cynic...

Upon hearing
the 'Proclamation'
of love
there lives
a silent scream...

embroidered near
the arc of the larynx,
as it scrapes feverishly
on the cells
of freedom

scavenging
the rarest breathes
of hope...

though,
the comparative
equal to
it's endeavor
recognizes
that futility...

basks in the glory
of it's penultimate
truth...





*Penultimate-next to last-i.e. There may be 'other'
truths preceding...

Just thought I'd clarify any confusions :)