A.M. Poem by Matthew Hall

I fill up on my poet's juice
My poison plays with midnight
This infamous artistic truce
This clarity, this insight

This peace of mind, this sleight of tongue
Induced by Evil's own light
Is how the final bell is rung
No fuss, no fear, no fight.

For what is choice when choice is but
Acceptance or denial?
Be loved for what you should not be
Or truthfully reviled?

My love, my life, imperfect heart
Here in Hell's deep defile
I've crossed another tiny part
Of Human's longest mile.