I Am King, You Are Regicide Poem by Benjamin Feliciano

I Am King, You Are Regicide



Up, oh up, luxurious ascent to the extent of emotions.
Transcending pleasure, pain, and death to another tier.
Onward to the sublime, the fullest rapture of experience.
Intermingled with the dark, the uncertain, the troubled, the chaotic, the destructive, the infinite, the difficult, and the apprehensive.
Find, in the triste duress renewed inertia.
Surpassing the languor of the absolutes which throttle the ambitions of an exaggeration of human err.
Escaping the vacuous ambiguity of another day wasted with dwelling and mulling upon that which has been deeply regarded as stone.
No transitional alchemy could redeem the former falsehood to worthwhile golden achievements of amatory pride often found in the inclination of eyes
gently toward the coquettish in nature.
The former and frequent signs of the enamored, filled with the annexations of the body, relaxing all to the sedentary and uselessness of infatuation; however furtive in fulfillment.
With the rose veil of passion long since removed, all that is to be said is to be spoken in a cipher of winks and nods to what is deemed misfortune.
Here comes the fight, here comes the recompense for all that has been done and all that will be tried.
I am tried, I have been tried and found guilty of all accused.
So I spew, I spew what remains in a final endeavor to redeem what was mentioned in encoded attempts at satisfying the ache to scream the answers to a million unasked questions.
With the final breath I have become the pavement as it is met with my flesh!
I spew a dissonant and caustic edification that challenges misconceptions of right and wrong, of just and inequitable.
I spew dishonest thrusts at the undeserving.
So onward rides the empty horse with no rider and no guide to a new precipice of old solutions gone awry in the effort to prove something is worth
attaining in the aimless and dying pursuit of the great and final accolade of existence.
A return to the sublime and perhaps former beauty of what childhood once offered and gave in surplus with the wonder of the world and the unknown of the universe.
When all is known, there is no cause to exist.
Still, this is pursued with such fervor that all that is null can no longer be presented as an accurate solution.
Welcome the elaborate emergence of a new day while grasping the hand of the one before and burning in the daylight of today.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Lee Bredeson 09 March 2009

i dont get it its almost like a story not a poem man

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