Free verse № 131175
Vice, Depravation, and Solace
People preaching sing-song things;
Those who write of love
To not know it still.
Murderers of the souls of kings;
Those who write, erase, and rewrite
Eternally, and without remorse;
Who rest on sandy beaches
In long pants and cloaks.
This lousy universe to mend.
All descending forces drag us
Down into the rancid depths:
Scorn, Sloth, Shame.
On the heavy morning,
Lies disperse to prideful sockets,
Where currents overreach
The boundaries of sanity.
To glance into regret.
It is a wonderful calamity;
This sorry, bleeding existence.
But what a happy calm to live it in.
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