An intensely deep bellowing
resonates soundlessly upon the voices
of the air exhaled in disgust.

A distraught glare peers further,
beyond one’s inadequacies, further still
into a fabricated rationality,
fundamentally flawed by the denial
of misfortune as whim, not destiny.

Each tear shed is like fire streaking
across dried fields, hunger swept
loathing feeding upon pride, lust, doubt.
Relief is only found by relying
on grief to cure the ills rising from ash
into the billowing smoke clouding
each decision as the mask of a criminal;
the ceremonial crown of royalty,
worn shamelessly. It’s adorned with
all the impervious nature faith can
place in one’s strong heart, beating
inside an empty cage of possibility.

The pupils dilate, a fatigued mind
is made to conjure fortune for the
impoverished reality lived out by the
dawning of day, the brilliance of a
raised sun burning every cell of posterity.

Making questions out of enigmas,
and riddles of answers, but the soul
is safe, untouched by the visibility
of a mirror’s confession…