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The Poet Still Cries

In a maze, void of direction,
I grope vainly, aiming for conclusion,
I see much, yet all is delusion,
The walls craze me, absent of solution.

I tirelessly persevere, going ahead,
But the end is not near, I feel dread,
I pray, but He can't hear, I am mislead,
Man is overcome by fear, my hope is dead.

I bear all, I seek redemption,
The martyr will fall, only for resurrection,
He will hear my call, and forgive my rebellion,
I gaze at the hall, embracing the deception.

I hunger, my feet grow weary,
I thirst for more, humanity breathes barely,
I resent Her, and alienate reality,
I despise the Whore, and curse this mediocrity.

She leers at my weakness, sneering with apathy,
Her appetite is craven, lusting after the sensibility,
She lives off of crushed love, on broken liberty,
Her crown of despair, rules entirety bleakly.

Yet I know she fears, she envies humanity,
She knows the truth, in us lies Beauty,
She trembles unwittingly, recognizing her futility,
She clings to delusion, denying her impunity.

For mankind has sadly embraced this fate,
The potential of indecision too much to take,
So they now wallow in jealousy and self-hate,
Abandoning compassion for an illusion's sake.

They embrace reason, mindlessly craving an absolute,
In a universe of detachment, they stifle the music of the flute,
They ignore their identity, placing their hearts on mute,
They betray their muses, trading them for servitude.

But from I, the silent sounds of subjectivity will still rise,
The human soul will forever remember through my eyes,
How you sacrificed beauty in exchange for lies,
And why oh why the poet still cries.

poem by Jeremy Cahoon
Added by Poetry Lover
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