Purgatory

“His crime had been death itself, and he had been sentenced with life.”-Brian Robert Smith.

Fearless, I prepare

For the pending visit from death,

Forsake not a day, lest-

All I have is a struggling breath,

 

Lusting for calm,

Ill choices I am solemn to make,

My cornerstones’ a pile of rubble,

Faith abandoned in haste,

 

Father I beg,

Prolong ever so the peril in me,

In your image am I made?

Or a mirror cast of devils, indeed,

 

At odds, lightly

Tethered to a glimmer of hope,

Engulfed in the blaze,

Of the sins and virtues I stoke,

Purify if you will,

Absolve my weary marred flesh,

If to exist any longer,

Be it near the canopy of your crest.  

February 04, 2015 - Rude Lizard

Reviews

[H. E. Schreiter]

This poem is exquisite! I love it!

[rudelizard]

Thank you very much H.E.

[Astrid]

This is so lovely. You use such natural rhymes that only adds a lyrical nature to the poem, one that I quite enjoy. It's even religious in a subtle and poetic way, quite tasteful. Very nice piece :)

[rudelizard]

I'm thrilled you noticed the lyrical nature of the poem. I wrote it to a rhythm playing in my mind. I appreciate your very kind words!

[Astrid]

No problem :) It was a pleasant read

[Jamestown]

Fabulous piece again my friend, your wording, flow and message is
Crystal clear, keep up the good work.

[rudelizard]

The forces were tugging at me hardcore today. Battlefield in the mind. Glad you liked it, and even more glad I vented. Until the next my friend!