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Shakespeare's Monkeys

Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.

More in The Poetry of Rygar

trials

Tears of an angel streaming from a devils face,

I’m out of place; my main goal is to stay in this space.

The things I trace followed by the lines in my face,

Misplaced affection only ends in disgrace.

 

Every tear that is shed from the demon within,

Feeling fear, feeling dread, I’m scared in my skin,

This year has been hell, fed from the hole that I’m in,

Disappear, and yell at the depth of my sin.

 

Canonizing saints beyond the realm of the now,

Sanitizing flaws, gone before I knew how,

Realizing laws that apply as allowed,

Fantasizing dogs choosing me as their chow.

 

Demons, saints and angels in hell,

Screaming in pain from the time that they fell,

Dreaming of days when the pain didn’t swell,

Leaving this maze in a haze I know well.

 

When will I learn to take it stride?

Again I will burn for mistakes on this ride,

Then I will yearn to take her as my bride,

Again she will spurn both my love and my pride.

 

As my soul plunges deeper in the abyss,

The hole that replaces it, is what it is,

Control of it all is all I wanted from this,

The toll that I paid wasn’t worth all the bliss.

 

The angelic tears that I shed from my heart,

Echo’s my fears that I had at the start,

Ripped in twain, split, as in tore me apart,

Left with my brain that is no longer smart.

 

And with my torment, it seems, is nearly complete,

And no more rent is paid to keep living deceit,

What’s in store for me now, is it only defeat?

I’ll endure what I can till im knocked off my feet.

 

And when this trial by fire comes to a close,

And the angels are free from the torturing foes,

And the demons can rest and watch as time goes,

Then I will be cleansed and freed from my woes.

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