A Parchement of Alabaster

'Tis but merely inkblots on a page, vile thoughts of vented rage,
yet my aura's ne'er been so blue, opaque hints of tainted hue.
Oe'r alabaster parchment pages, abhorrent musing rages —
tinged tell-tale scars of throbbing hope, all knotted with blue binding rope.

 
You answered not the Piper's call, yet I did, and endured the fall
from righteousness or things of faith, a vagabond — one wretched wraith.
I was strong, yet also willing, enamored with the thoughts of killing.
No blood was e'er on your hands yet mine was slathered with all of mans'.

 
I cannot see
are you near?
Hope, have you forsaken
me, my dear...

 
Lest I ask, have you fared better, having braved all types of weather?
Do your tears not stain the pages, lost amongst the saddest sages?
Perhaps, dear one, you feel no need to cry or water bitter seed
Were that true I'd take your place, to welcome life in warmth's embrace.

 
The city beckons, calls to me, all of it's dark depravity;
the walls are high, yet paper thin, like alabaster parchment skin.
I walk alone along my journey, hitching rides on wobbled gurneys —
While you're safe there, warm and strong, awash in love where you belong.

 
I cannot breathe
what's in the air?
Throngs thirsting, seething —
 find me there..

 
Streets scream out for retribution, tinged with hatred's absolution,
wand'ring through this devastation, unsure of a destination.
Once you and I, we had it all, battlements built above the wall,
that overlook valleys of green, beyond this city so obscene.

 
Twisted tightly 'round whip scarred trees, all of our hopes, securities
have vanished 'neath a writhing horde of bloodied bodies, striped and scored.
The lies and torments of the past have caught up with our lives at last.
While each day I strive to cope, wrested from my gnarled grasp is hope.

 
Hints of relics, rust imbue —
ink now dries a scarlet hue.
I'll not find the hope I'm after
on pale parchments of alabaster.