I step on the far side of the threshold and smile, for I
foolishly believe I am free of her. Then like an infected wound she shows her
true nature and the pain inundates back and drowns my very being, I am unable
to stop her dapple brown swellings and their destructive spread eastward.
I hold
stock-still to her false promises. Though my pen is blunt and culls the dispose
of humanity to her ink well, I will never write her anthem on given parchment. She
crosses the wakening spring and can exuviate truth at a glance, she sips with
greed from immortal drink knowing it laced with pithy hemlock and holds but a
single glimpse of redemption.
I see
well that my valiant effort becomes a feeble attempt that will avail not. And
despite my diamonds fleshy aura the valley lilies are deemed to wither. I
battle against miters and crowns, hear my infant brother cry out, waste not new
blood on old wounds.
-Johnny V.
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