Blame me not of a heartless vengeance
inked words nor intolerable pestilence
a keeper of life’s incandescent tolerance
mocked by the icy queried inquisitions.
Steamy breath within pious incantations
raucous mind of a boiling incessant joy
home in purgatory, refuge within evil
I’m not afraid to walk this world alone.
In dungeons of a darkish desperation
percolating a new hell from deep within
roaming the covenant on ancient paths
uncovering graves of the fallen saints.
Battlements and those gated horrors
in bunkers of suicidal choreography
saltpeter and brimstone explode in envy
seeing the stars within eternal darkness.
Written in the sky with a neon yellow ink
missing the blood moon in all her glory.
The question isn’t “who will allow me life”
but rather, “who shall try to stop me?”
© Ken Allan Dronsfield
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