Ghosts of a Departed Room
The sound from a departed room
captures the ghost of my imparted gloom.
Within the ramparts of this prison palace
I partake of love from a wooden chalice.
From without the structures of sharpened thorns
we climb through agonizing mourns;
Compassing paths we’ve deigned a terror,
releasing panic at our transgressive mirror!
When a stranger happens upon this happy forge,
his vital spirit is a lifeless scourge.
The crown of those he’d escape through draught
is forced upon his sodden scalp.
His God of Mercy stares and sees,
patiently waiting for a faithful plea.
Declaring more than man can see,
his tears become the raging sea.
Upon his vessel the world is ever
(but below the anchor lies a tempting tether).
To envision quiescence beneath his shadow,
he relaxes the pumping, pulsing gallows.
The humour of a trusting youth
twines a knot of gordian truth,
As virgin muscles contract and cease,
falsely faulting the foreshadowed feast