01-27-2013, 02:05 PM
Hello! This is my first post here. I had a bit of trouble making the last verse rhyme, but I chose to go with the profundity of the contradiction instead of the syntactical aesthetics of prosody.
With dread anticipation of sanity
among mad men I wait
for deities of right
of which I pontificate.
None such from the gilded world arrives
to reveal the quiet lie.
Grotesquery,
latent eruptions of pride.
That which is, exists solely through a veil,
shrouds of ambiguity.
Ubiquitous, our biased eyes,
that gift us these realities.
Lacking ability to perceive,
nothing can truly be,
and with our eyes we are bequeathed
a world devoid of objectivity.
Dismal, juxtaposed against darkness,
I, a tiny figure,
engrossed with significance,
darkly ruminate on that which is pure.
With dread anticipation of sanity
among mad men I wait
for deities of right
of which I pontificate.
None such from the gilded world arrives
to reveal the quiet lie.
Grotesquery,
latent eruptions of pride.
That which is, exists solely through a veil,
shrouds of ambiguity.
Ubiquitous, our biased eyes,
that gift us these realities.
Lacking ability to perceive,
nothing can truly be,
and with our eyes we are bequeathed
a world devoid of objectivity.
Dismal, juxtaposed against darkness,
I, a tiny figure,
engrossed with significance,
darkly ruminate on that which is pure.