Ah Truth'
bestow upon our hearts cruel manifestations
of human inconsistencies.
Alas,
we have become voluntary subjects
in a rash world: an abundance of alterations
cast aside in the corner pockets of totalitarian ideals.
Such monotonous tendencies shall be saved for the common'
where treacherous upheavals of individual personage
are mustered by intangible threads of consciousness
spoken in inaudible whispers.
'Tis but a notion which halts thy breath
and hastens thy thoughts.
For the mind is trivial
unless evoked by natural experiences,
commonly mistaken for inaccuracies.
O insatiable tranquility! tap upon thy window,
with one light knock . . .
'Tis then that hues of burgundy saunter through thy head.
Yet still,
ignorance is plastered upon cobblestone walls'
succumbing to unseen cracks: Life's inadequacies.
All this is but a forthcoming road which looms ahead'
one submitted to curves and broken lines.
'Tis a trite locale of casualties' these undertones of the pathetic.
So please, I beseech:
walk onward: Ghosts of the Victorious.