Rogue

Until again,

darkness slips
along this pen.

In the valley of
crescent moons
showing me what
I have without you.

Solidarity of incomplete,
my mask of loyal defeat.

All the waves of
fanatic conclaves
leaves this hallowed
vessel adrift until rapture.

This counter-clock
perpetually sways vertically;

incandescent translucency.

Past dances
with present
a concerto of
weary contempt;

evolving into self resent
subliminal descent.

Perfection is my
greatest Pyrrhic victory;

my Achilles heel
of blessed virtue.

Great commanders lead,

I'm a private of
venerated auras.

Personally,

this is for I;

another child of divinity
yearning for right.

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