The poetry of rainy evenings and lo mein boxes.
An iron sheet of heaven’s malice beats
The face of this, my forgotten city.
Night children, aimless, seek absolution
From sins they did not know they had performed—
Neon confessionals and liquor store
Priests hear stoned apologies for nothing.
That unholy shower washes away
These souls which find salvation in a bottle.
Some blank verse I wrote a while ago as an emotional release.
Damn fate, damn fate, cast not your cloak o’er my
Crown of holy light! Begone you foul beast!
Yea, love’s glory seemed to end my long night,
But, oh, the shadows of the souls of men
Could not be so quench’ed without a fight.
The best poetry of Jonson is laid
In fate’s graveyard with the jewel of my love.
Damn all the powers of heaven and hell,
For cursed be they who dare to stay my hand
And end so soon the sweetness of this dawn.
Attempting some blank-verse about my search for wisdom and truth in the world.
O shining glory – morning light,
I call to thee, with no response.
O fragrant rose – eternal bloom,
Your sweet scent escapes my nose.
I beg of you – I plead this day;
Let me know your shining truth,
Bathe me in your summer warmth.
Alas, alas, no mortal may,
In life, be so mightily blessed.
Alas, alas, we are cursed
To search aimlessly for truth.
-Michael Sweeney (the Cave Tro11)