infinite clarity of my twisted sobriety- random no. 8 (A Mortal Coil)

 

	as one walks on cobbled stones of a long begotten wall... May the forgotten pauper stands tall... amongst the Braves we seek a sanctuary that begets all that the mortal hunger craves... in 18 months we love as a lifetime... in a mere second we transcend beyond our mortal prime... Like a prisoner that holds the key... Freedom breaks from the Highest of the begotten freaks

and in the Night... when all bow to the enlightened Might... Mere thespians runth towards the Light And the warrior surrender without any fight In Love and war none succumbed to the mathematics of our mortal plight... Ah... but all that remains is the hexagonal shape of an illustrious eight... May All be forgiven & justify its right...

Reviews

[Martin See]

i find the style of your poem intriguing...and there are moments where it slips into old english...the metaphors you used are rather difficult to get...i guess it must have been late and it's your first draft...i believe if you tidy up some of the lines your message would be stronger...but nonetheless, it a brave poem of a modern day 'prophet'...good on ya!

[Rc R. Vagilidad]

needless to say, there is no force rhyming in here, it transcends more peacefully as to what it speaks.

love this line...

"a prisoner that holds the key...
Freedom breaks from the Highest of the begotten freaks" - it seems to be ironically diverse and superb in its poetic sense, just by a bit of the usage of "freaks", I may suggest you use some other term.. it seems out of place yet the message is profound.

love the title to. is there more to come out from this?