My Ferric Justifications

People can talk themselves into and out of pretty much anything.

The trouble is regret is as slippery as an eel and can sneak through the bars, the bastions, of reason.

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With the rusting bars

of those ferric justifications

my dreams they rot away

so reasonably confined to cower

 

Each nail bashed home

with the Mjölnir mind

resounding thunderous home

to pin my hopes to the page

 

Each slant, every twist

slams prison door shut

to echo along death-row

and no reprieve from the guv’nor

 

All that alleged sensibility

cuts razor blade the skin

whilst my heart bleeds

unnoticed tears, into a bucket

 

And when the bell tolls

I shall empty the slops

of all my reasonable reasons

which did treason to my love

 

The painted corner of my cell

surrounds me so perfect tight

as all my gaveled demi-truths;

my Soul does forever swallow and choke

 

Would that I could vomit

most visceral up

all this heinous bile

I feed myself and to others

 

Within the rusting bars

of all my ferric justifications

my dreams they rot away

reasonably confined to cower and decay