Red Truths

Less purposed reason, what remains is
The faint discord of softly falling water,
A brief slander of expectant seasons
Cut too short by shears of moiral law.

That homeless madness wrecks black carnage
Beneath conventioned words of cultivated gravity
Like the jester’s bold washed cacophony,
By cold design to eclipse red truth with lies.

When only that same cold design might serve
Borne in tainted hands sworn here to solace,
Must Desire bow now before Need,
And anguished, sever one’s only comfort.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s