Degradation of Verse

To write of thee here is not an assault

against thine own person or character,

but more a mugging of these very words;

a grievance against their use and beauty.

To write of thee here, is to wound this verse

and sin against the naked honesty

of language, prayer and tongues, staining their truth.

Thy name is wrong.

It burns the lips of angels as they sing

for thy salvation – thou art so judged.

Yet tragedy this is not; thou art no

Icarus burned down with grieving parent,

flight is ne’er possible for one so weighed

by Hell’s hot flames and Devil’s low whispers.

I consign myself to a life of shame

in the knowledge that I am to blame for

the mauling of words with thy mentioning

and the murder of angels with thy name

and the clear flaunting of the ugliest

Anger, nay, Hatred, for thy shameless sin

against that binding elixir we crave -

You have wounded Love.

As I have wounded poetry in so telling.