The Weak Inherited Me

Experiencing personal loss, and the importance to find truth and resolve in our lives as a result of our mourning.

The curtain call of memory
Came about when,
Your weapon of partial vision
Allowed you to see right through me
And as I heard the final song of my name,
The peak of my sorrow became stained
Of all that was left of me
The apparent attrition became merely
A thought without representation,
Soon I conceded to fate when instinct navigated
My energy to find the warmth of closure
Only to find the flames of absolution
Had surrendered to dormancy
On that blackest dawn
But prideful desperation revealed
The haunting reality I hoped to avoid,
The stains which consumed the soil
Had now been washed away
By the nectar of the clouds above
Yet, thoughtless disregard
By the domestic thief preceded such cleansing.
Life in turn becomes increasingly desolate,
Until we seek the elusive resolution
Which was lost in the depths of our selfish propaganda

Author's Note

Be perfectly honest...please!