The Lie

The Lie

 

Has this candle lit vandal come tearing its lament

To augment such weary marches of sorrow

All weeping configured the fingers of fate

To turn moulded clay to the empty vessel of a soul

 

Heartless gold plated grinning reminder

Of shattered silk doors of sin

Thrown wide to deceitful imperious walls

Where scratched each breath of hope and denied the softest touch

 

Foul echo of triumph born by flightless wings

Its truce delivered on the drunken mutterings of fools

Nailed in their fickle easy clamouring

For tasteless gilded shells and inconsequent meaning

 

By mediocrity dazzled in consummate tears

So readily bloated fall in their thick passages of treasure

Broken amidst perfumery and powders wasteland of plastic

Triumphant beguiling of salvation

 

The perceiving vista procured to grand a compromise

Belittled in the preference of trash

Agreeing on indistinct monuments

And shunned the solitary deliverance of truth

 

Inescapable nondescript insipid vandals

Bemoaning their wretched use

And defiled by fate their heartless whit

To ignorance is made consummate

 

All proposal of the innocent

Gathered to worshipful psalms

On a blankets bland demand of deceit

 

 


Comments:
 
frederic   frederic wrote
on 5/20/2009 8:03:09 PM
This is too confusing. You're piling too many recondite phrases on top of each other. That's OK if they work out, but I don't see this poem as coming off right. I notice that you are employing paradox. Truth can be paradoxical. What is the "lie"? The vandals are fashioning a lament. The lament is that man is full of trash. So, trashy entrails are the source of lies. I guess I could accept that, but it goes--still--off into the wild blue yonder. We are fated to lie. You have a good start, but I need it a little simpler.

cmwilliams
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Rating: 4.0/10

Published Date
5/20/2008 12:00:00 AM
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