The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible. ~Vladimir Nabakov

Friday, January 16, 2009

Devils shoestrings

Lance in my door conveys a hidden word
Of existence beyond this desperate world

Pierced is the gash so deep in the wood
Beckoning to disobey wanting my good

Deal in blood he wanted written with fire
Offering gifts and riches of utmost desire

As I watched frozen on the ground staring
Devils shoestrings laced I recall wearing

Time lost evoked inside cleansing implore
Where learning to believe in me evermore

Illusions are secreted among the mankind
Searching and seeking things we never find

A choice won in the end to refuse to comply
Horror of his face and demonic tongues of lie

Eyes slithery and evil suited his thousand faces
As I untied the lavish shoes and burned its laces

Deployed terror departed a tattoo on my heart
Remembering moments from which I can never part

The privilege of disbelieving I no longer contain
Though mortal and integral does my soul remain

There lays another realm of which many do know
Yet only few had a glimpse of its powerful blow

And while I recall accounts of its blistering fires
I insist living on barefoot with needs and desires

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