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