Your Poetry Dot Com - give me truth

the truth
that we try
so hard
to resist,
comes forging
a path
to prove
it exists.
I leave
this behind
my one, trite
blind eye
& turnicated heart
on the steps
of good-bye.
I wince at
mere thoughts,
ghosts of
a yesterdays' eve,
cloaked in
the garb
of what I percieve
& skirt
the intention once
too blurred
to believe
to be mine,
but it quakes,
so I bow
I conceed.
my own
style berserk
with innocent pleas.
I witness
my witnessing
to stall at the throng
of needleling ways
kept close
far too long.
does peace
come to me,
does it wait
to attend
loves' funeral pyre
angels herald,
a hymn
enticing us in.
daunting wings
take to air
trace the sky
take us in. . .
nothing to mask
truths' endless stare
or suspend.
so heavenwards
chaste spirits rise
to be free.
to free themselves
of these lies
folded tight,
still they breath.
surrounded
I struggle
but I can not
free me.
origamied up
& wrapped up
just so.
& tucked away
so these lies,
they can grow
to massive
proportion
with a cowards haste
by conscious choosing
interlaced
with careless motive
& aimless pace
& having not
the will to relate
to strife,
or the heart
for fork- tongued
delight,
no recipe
seems fitting
for all of the spite.
I leave behind
a chalice of words.
overdue.
& ridicule
now brought,
a taunting, absurd,
grows tinier,
it grew
so as to scope
it's own destiny
through the eyes
of my world
& blindly to grope
the edge
of each sanity
a broad spectrum,
the entire breed.
I rally to listen,
to my ears disease.
sowing questions
& waiting for truth
'til i bleed.
I squander time
as it expand
by degrees.
I skip & I stroll
this fathomed land
as I please
where all that awaits
is awakening
for me
to the truth,
ever foreign,
allied in need.
a dot & a dash
a signal crossed
so I plead.
my God
I am vexed.
my will seems lost
but I won't balk
I won't flee.
aware of the danger
to just overlook
the demon child,
a premise,
an idling nook
where ideas
spin reckless
& seek to disturb
the will of intention
the will meant to serve.
it matters not
if the real
is thus spurned.
a fragment
found.
tattered.
a shred
somewhat burned.
please. . .
give me truth
as beautys'
kind aid.
the context
we chose
met demise,
fawned decay.
it reeked
in a manner
that never suited you.
a mild absence
of meaning
left words
much askew
to hypnotize
& then to subdue
this sense
of shame
for the garden
we grew.
strange, sad
creature
alone
without any fruit.

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