by Gerry Legister

Created on: December 29, 2009   Last Updated: February 24, 2010

My soul is not pure,

Unsure because it is mine,

Empty with many pictures,

Journeying through time.

Making no time to clean the soul,

Natty correspondence lived unchallenged,

Until inside the soul was out of control,

Dark shadows reflect a sinister image.

Pride became the soul assassin,

When I stoop to pray,

I found the sovereign reason,

Contentiously barring the right way.

I became a pale and delusional figure,

smothering the strangulation,

Try to rise from the lethal sniper,

With warbling beat of paralyze motion.

Tragedy masquerading outside,

Truth ripped the sinews apart,

Force the assassin’s dagger inside,

Tearing open the fragile heart.

Soul in torment assassinate character,

Lives ignite by memory of bitter conflict,

Trembling with the revelry of war,

Power struggles regicide the wound inflict.

A deadly touch killing sensitivity,

Leaving the lunacy of emotions,

Searching for pieces of responsibility,

To justify the cruel assassination.

Death is thrust severely through,

The window by the soul assassin,

Seeking judicial punishment ensure,

Aspects of the soul experience agony and pain.

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