Sculpture II

From depth the dungeon of affliction, I’ve resurrected.

Love has infused my aching soul. But justice is cruel

In her nature, forbidding fruition. Thus, reality is a

Flaming mystery, dividing the hands of time. How

Shall I conquer the illusion of fate? I shall first confess

The sculpture of my passion. I shall too awake

Intuition, pleading for the fragments of poetry. Of no

Avail is my heartstring. Such music has enticed tragedy.

My muse is the root of pain, cleaving to uncertainty.

Thus, I’m famished for the want of dreams, evermore

Afloat the portrait of screams. I’m living purgatory,

Trapped within the sphere of ambivalence. And still,

Love is a fertile pasture. Wherefore, I pardon my urge to

Forsake divinity, for love is the presence of vibrations.