Ascension of Hope

With the exam paper slowly descending,

like Satan escaping the grace of God, 

into my hands, and as time

sharpens with its bludgeon tool, 

the cracks and holes of my mind

are slowly repairing by the hands

of the blacksmith.

The craftsmanship of mentality that he

has inherited me has ascended

any means of judgement,

I am free. 

The binds of marks and absence

of magnitude has relegated

the status of magnificence

to be nothing than a name.

The joy and jubilence

that discovery gives me

is the same that Columbus

endowed on his journey

to the New World.

This novelty

gives me satisfaction not in

the hopes of a five, 

nor the dissatisfaction of 

anything but a five,

but rather in the 

spirit of covenance

that so many have endured.
I'll follow the path most followed,
and the one least followed,
for I am ambivalent,
walking in both,
regardless, I will pace,
back and forth. 

Time's undying parasites

of captivation 

transcend the modes 

of examination,

for I am indulgent in the

avarice of knowledge

and the bounty of wisdom

that it has handed to me.

So, perish, 

soul of expectancy

for the Devil of 

Creativity

resides in me.  

Lines Charted

A peninsula of imaginary proportions,

where the lighthouse keeper

disposes of his predisposed notions.

Open to interpretation, the land is not for her --

That sardonic Being of Truth, 

making mockery of the False Devil. 

Bearing that twin-pang teeth, 

she scoffs at he who revels; 

the joy and bliss of that sanguine adventure,

where no compass and telescope can guide

him through the rumble of the ocean, he is sure -- 

O Truth, you throw rubble to justify

the being of your existence. 

Within the confines of these lines,

you bear no soul in mine, 

Perish, for you do not lie here hence! 

Eyes Wide Shut

Feelings, your chains 

imprison me to feel

the catharsis of humanity.

Whether it be the 

shackles of agony,

or the lynchings of slavery,

or the torture of negligence,

your eyes penetrate through the 

indifference of her difference:

she is no dissident from the

lines of societal arbitration,

nor does she scorch my soul

like the passion of the Third World.

Why do you glimmer in this 

abyssal sky,

waning to the glimpse of my eyes.

Or is your light merely 

a reflection of my hopelessness created

through the falsehood of my lies.

Acknowledgement buried deep inside me,

desiring to flee,

but I remain a fugitive,

scared of my domestic

position.

These feelings locked up,

Eyes Wide Shut.