The Compromise

Here's another old one; quite grim.

I  pray upon this
porch of power,

I grovel and beg in my final hour,
  So It is true: The tenderness of
time has turned sour,

Elbows remain perched on a jagged corner;  gashed
and Bloody,

Red swarms the dirt, now warm and muddy,
I ignore the hurt,

The muck works its way into my palms,
Filling the cuts; It comforts and calms,

Where shall I rest this weary spirit?
Perhaps next to the
candle only half lit?

My direction veers, not knowing where it
steers,

 but my heart; it nears,

Lingering above this highly risen
throne, joy tugs the heart that is no longer alone,

Gazing towards a garish light, while mystery and longing pierce the night,
Movements and motion unconsciously invite,

Skin prickles,
Bones quiver,
Touches tickle,
Body shivers,

Here I lie, helpless and mortified,
Thoughts run free as secrets are pried,

In this very spot, I choose to rot,
And you begin to question,
 but I must point out this is not a suggestion,

Avoiding disapproving looks and glistening wrought-iron hooks,

 I  gain a sense of priority and an
undeniable dignity,
Thus; I continue; allowing words to push their way
through,
 No longer will I bid you ado.

With nerves of steel I step
forward, ready to make the kill,
Absorbing the fear I reply,

"It’s a deal".        

Read more: