deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Wailing


He lingers on in lone sorrow, from a history shared;
Grim tomorrow stumbled upon, with its steely fangs bared…
To prosecute the upright stance of seven layered trust.
Given to chance, and ill repute, his house of dreams but dust.

A walking scab, feeling remorse in sensibility;
He stays the course to lay the slab of love no longer free…
On foundations of splintered hope—those faces from the past,
Beyond the scope of perdition, where destiny’s amassed.

The pinnacle of broadcast shame, he lays his trophies down.
If in the name of ridicule, takes up his jester’s crown.
The scepter laid across his lap, his eyes pinned to the ceiling;
With a cold slap the price is paid to a life lost while kneeling.

The head bowed low, the sword raised high, a gesture quite befitting;
Met with a sigh that seemed to know not the meaning of quitting.
With the downstroke, all present blessed in the knightly endeavor
Saw dream confessed in eyes that spoke of refinding forever.

But with ghostly ambition bled, these marble halls of ruin
In quiet dread now stir, mostly beneath the lover’s moon.
Leaving a tingle on the skin, even by light of day…
The price of sin for which he sings in eternal dismay.
Written by Shine_of_Darkness (Michael Anderson)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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