On the margin of tribulation

End times with collected moments of tragedy

Once more the road beneath our feet quakes

Where marauding faith in generosity appeared

With kind words embrace enemies within our gates,

And turn that grace to strike hearts unprepared.

 

When storm arose and the emotions spilled over,

Find smouldering faces peering through gothic rails,

No agreement or friends can stop the seething anger

Breathing fire once concealed by pretentious walls.

 

When the strife first began to stumble and choke

It forbid loose tongues to tell of any pleasantries,

Quenching breath on trial when humour is not joke

Heated fumes drifted like smoke defending sentries.

 

False words that see god being friends of ambush

How can we see the good? Covering the fake image,

On the margin of tribulation, ablution was accomplish

And we never did understand the blabbering language.

 

In every frown lies the barking sound of vile terror

They look around and examine the splendour gain,

Extraordinary treasures we have in galleries galore  

But their thorny vestige will never be found again.

 

The vows repeat hastened to their responding feet,

Choices made inner conscience rip apart this path,

Gathering troops in tight loops on the margin of defeat

And die like fools plunging into their own murky death.

 

That which was burned its hostile pride will never evoke

Tight girdles beyond the margin where the story lies,

Fervency burned out beneath bitter drifting smoke

Whose liberty do we enter to cross on brighter shores?