The loss of illusions. (Unbound by purpose.)

I died one day on a lonely shore.
Apart from God, I fought my war.
Objective purpose was my bane -
a sad illusion fraught with pain.

-"Oh, silence! I still hear your cry!
Your shout is everlasting,
its sound level is blasting.
Sooth my pain as the night comes nigh."


Bereft of talent and and drenched in sin.
I wore my unworth with a grin.
I stripped my soul and laid it bare
and flaunted all my deep despair.

-"Oh, solitude! I hear your roar!
It drowns my anguished gasping
which tears my voice to rasping.
From soul to soul your voice will soar."


From tears to laughter at breakneck speed
madness made me protest and plead.
Beneath me grains of sand cohered -
my tears the dried out beachhead smeared.

-"On Golgatha the gale winds blow.
No man can live with wondering
if life's a frantic, blundering
wildfire - with a fading glow."



Poetry by An-ders
Read 580 times
Written on 2011-02-08 at 12:56

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