DISEASE OF DEATH

EPITAPH OF A SON'S TREASON

Hate is a tool of the Devil

and how I have absorbed the darkness

in my Soul

for now a vendetta exists

balanced by the karma of the ages.

Driven by a parallel Universe

and a family completely disconnected

the circuitry of my doings

became entirely

my own as I abandoned them.

To keep on trying was fruitless

now the Celeste of God and His Light

bathes me in Wisdom.

Hate, destroys you as a person

and the challenging crossroad is afire

knowing you cannot pass

as the imposing face of despair hovers

like an ugly cloud forbearing.

How many of us never had mothers

or incandescent dreams

of a warm embrace

that only a mother could give?

Hate

is an abomination of ones senses

destroying whatever good, and

consuming

all the artifacts of righteousness.

How we hide in our boxes

and elevate ourselves in our own worth

guising the madness

cloaked by

our interrogations and ambitions.

Hate will enter when it does

for the balance

of pain is greater than good

and the door

that is opened for words

has consummated the poet in his existence.

She will die without my love

for she never

deserved the love of a true son.

Her own tormented life

and negative

beacon of behaviors has capsized:

now nothing is left but debris.

How sad

that when one comes to this end

the Truth gleams through

but the

sharpened edge is in the darkness.

Envious we are

of the supremeity of a mother

beyond words

that a poets pen must quiver, crying

for the dust of her shadow

will be all that remains

of a self centered woman.

May God

forgive her in her inadequacies

as we all will be judged.

Sisters of the same stock

dying from the diseases of death, we speak …