The mundane comedy

All of what in the world I meet
is a mirror telling me I exist.
Everyday I walk in the life
feeling naked in the thickest mist,
like ashamed of being,
unaware that salvation comes from giving
to myself a confession
to the others my redemption.
Right down my spine sin settles its sting,
a stabbing wound I need to acknowledge
to get sense out of the inurement
that soaks the bones and warps my soul
in unspeakable terror,
abhorrent.
Deep inside every cell feels just rotten,
I am a crippled soldier who limps along
without any hope left in men to bet on.

Still,
there is a garden of delights
where all this awe cannot sneak in
like an eely demon through a dream
to make it turn into a nightmare
of fear, sweat and dodgy grins.
I could once step among its mirth
to steal a snapshot of relief
and joy untouchable from grief.
Of hands ready to discover
and eyes eager to encounter
that look which explains the universe,
that of a caring mother.
To my greatest sorrow,
I was not allowed to stay
but I left with renewed faith in tomorrow,
caught in unspeakable charm for which
I felt was worth starting to pray.

May not the pervert hearts of men
try and raid this sweetest gift
that yet grants humanity
an undeserved reward of grace.
"Fatti non foste a viver come bruti".
Still they would manage to mar
such a delicate sprout 

of heavenly beauty.

Reviews

[cest la vie]

Why this piece has gone unreviewed is beyond me.. Anyway, I am glad to have stumbled upon this lottle gem. Such words of insight. Through the darkness of our past/sins the writer has been able to carve a niche of joy.. Protected from prying eyes..
Wonderful..simply wonderful..