A huge lump in my heart, a rigged game of twisted pieces.

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About downtown, I am underway as the birds commence the inner judgement, under piles of lamentations. The salty drops now cry out and with every reason to be gibelike, they taunt.

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In starkness, I would wind back the sands of time and tip the scales. Out of law, I dare ask.

 

Scarred all over, a mountain of valleys, as much as it begs clemency on your face. I am left to carry this enervating chunk of truths. Though the Siren sings the Latin chants, grace called my guilt.

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Forever until now, the rainbow glitters all over and within the rain yet the colors won’t wash me away. In the ignominy of where I stand, those valleys become Everest, yet I deny the melting rights to ice, and it so withdrew cold.

 

If she could, sorry would sue me a mile away. The battery has been exhausted, break the glass clock. And if misery did suffice, the mystery remains. A thousand times of diving below the watery deep and I still drown to life.

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I know your storms have always been soft, brittle with chocolate. So, I beg thee to grant me peace.

 

By the oaks, when fall hits best and when the leaves are gone past radiancy. The wind might be slow for me. The treasures where I go at great lengths, and I might just catch the beauties of the light.

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For thirteen years my soul would sit and for an instant, age to infancy. I shall come knocking when I see winter with a lightning bolt in hand, saying “mea culpa.”