Depth is the soul
trembling are the loins
blood fills the glass bowl
disassembling where the mind conjoins.
Flighty is the Spirit
futile the Heart's retreat
for in the disquietude of felicity we fear it
will drown out Melancholia's constant beat.
Finity is our quest
conceit is our bane
so we battle for humility lest
we come to know insane.
Fear is our loathing
faith is our lack
so we grievously sieze no thing
as we covet that night of black.
Bitterness we taste upon our mortal tongue
as we see others' faces cringe
our song of love yet still unsung
an inner Hell and corrosive singe.
Meager is the cost
mediocrity, the petty profit
what Passion born at rebirth is lost
the still womb of Apathy to scoff it.
Unity is the Cause
yet Alienation, the effect
upon the edges we pregnantly pause
the fragility of Courage we accept to reject.
Serpentine is the Mind's curve
vicious is the Vein
judicious is the gavel of the Nerve
ever pernicious, the bane.
Symphonic is the Longing's song
genius prone the 'Have Nots' phrasing
erratic pulsates the Heart's Hand's grasp so strong
yet all-too subtle is Nature's phasing.
Chilling is the fever
brittle is the bone
arthritic is the Weaver
as the noose is sown.
Vacuous is the Void
raging, the inner scream
elusive is the inscience of the Embryoid
faithfully evasive, the Cathartic Dream.
