TIME IS THE TWILIGHT


A celestial shadow a dark silhouette,
indentured to darkness I live in regret.
As tarterean figures fight for my soul,
these truculent forces are taking there toll.
Is it hyperbole, this heavenly quest,
can I fill this chasm so deep in my chest?
My dispirited nature is stricken and doleful,
my heart and my soul are hollow yet hopeful.
This flexuous path is so miasmatic,
a righteous wrath that is so systematic.
A slave to the shadows and servants of twilight,
the coruscating darkness is brighter than hindsight.
And still I fight through the knotty extremes,
as my mind takes flight through illustrious dreams.
I wake with a shake and the air is sanguinary,
a crimson mist, the devil's sanctuary.
The sapient side of my mind is fallacious,
the battle within the sin is rapacious.
I'm waging a war and Its taint is execrable,
though stained by the fight my fealty's credible.
An edible thought though offered in hindsight,
I'm a slave to my mind and time is the twilight.

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This Poems Story

we all battle with our beliefs this is my everyday struggle with belief and faith.