From a beggar, roaming the streets

Oh mercy-less and apathetic God!
Why do you scorn my tormented soul,
seizing the infinite tumult of man-
entombing me within its grace?


Have I not wept a thousand tears?
Have I not seared everything that's sane-
dwelling where the demons reap,
proclaiming the ironies of your gracious name.


A dying coal flares
at my pathetic stench,
deriding my melancholy path -
like perilous waves consuming an innocent vessel,
or a waining moon and the waves!


Though my sight
is wrought with rotting flesh -
breath of melancholy and decay
-I still bore dreams of bliss,
though horrid reveries consume me still.



I reap for the horizon -
sanity asunder and bleak
- wailing a poets cry