If I pander Hell's demands, bet on radition;
when just deserts are left wanting
gratification.
And, false impressions conform to an apprentice,
and maiden's burden blemished by belligerence,
trappings of Fate relinquish welcome discretion:
harvesting Greed's apocryphal chaste paradise.
Reaching the summit with abject submission.
Unbind to prosper, letting go Sisyphus' repose;
through catharsis, released random predictions,
an Apology, rehearsed without least suspicion.
Flights of fancy extinguished with least remorse.
Yet, naively declining Love's compensation:
Out of fright my grief looked for Mercy 's deception.
YOU ARE READING
I Am The Prism To The Light
PoetryMy poems are not a work of fiction, to the best of my knowledge; but, autobiographical. My world begins just at the very moment that someone utters the 4 letter Word. It's the same Word that at some point I did muttered while reading the apocalypse...
