Sobriety isn’t an honourable gesture, nor a powerful cause
it is the wisp of intolerance drifting between reviling memory
and a desperate realisation of feeble mortality expiring
in a solemn mirror’s image before our crushing exhaustion
I feverously cling to its slipperiness with hands by rote muscle memory
an act of an unrealistic madman to thwart my character destruction
as the abyssal entrenchment offers little understanding
to the reason why it works today instead of yesterday
time is a manipulative mistress bent on loss of soul
Folly is the repetition of acts with deliberation and planning
without recognition of the recompense, nor restitution
of the malignant losses listed like so many penal proclamations
Not before, not now was a serious mood attributed to my adolescent manner
of deconstructively approaching the futility of self-involved bondage
the sober fools blithely watching as entrenched ideals corrupt truth
The surreptitious belief offered was one of unexplored rebellion
coupled with militant youthful enthusiasm and unabashed ignorance
instead of an intellect, anguished with fallen ideals infecting a frozen innocence
So, I found myself acting out a clarion call to adherence to the divine
despite encompassing sacrifice without regarding our dystopia as a
disruption of insulating one’s self behind anesthetic trappings of comfort
but more of the insidious inoculation and prevention of being transformed
by a selfless act offered on our undeserving, feckless behalf
Weathering auspiciousness as wisdom is bypassed by an acidic, didactic allusion
as the furtive sky is really falling, we needing truthful safety, a radical deviation
a seminal substitution of transformation for myopic free-willingness
a sacrificial transferred rebellion in choice
3:09 am
27 March 2011
