Time's Scribe Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

Mind's deep permits, darkness' caverns crave, I beseech of thee,
one light defined in candled flame, hides in that blue;
profound indeed these depths despair; oh savage light, make bright,
release these binds, of mind, of heart, of soul cleared true;
substance beret, of loss, of life, of love; an emptiness unknown,
holds bared, expose this will for breath, yet breathe I dare;
releasing my wounded soul from bond, and so I rise prepared,
truth said so won, this bloodied sword sings still; why care?

Wisdoms solemn gain, ones conscience bleeds soul's revengeful feast,
flesh fresh these tastes, bodies burned provide these sordid treats;
gnashing gnaw, upon which limbs; for I hunger so; who knew,
allows this seat, this beggared soldier's code and helm;
tearing down the shadow's loathsome twin, in thought I am but man,
time's scribe within this shell of flesh, and bone, and sin;
rends thoroughly my heart, of things so passed, and of such to come,
begins this mend, a final one of lost hopes blend.

Healing once again, becomes that friend formed long ago and yet,
my past is but that dim, of dew from wisdom's clock;
suppress' great shames, and pain; first sins remind of heart's part,
yearn tears life's strength away, from battles wounds and shock;
heaven's lament, once pure grain of sand laid low of time's sense,
resolve's content, sup well upon each battered stalk;
will rise my quest, release the key locked portals secluded door,
completion myths abound, therein an ends set locked.

Reflection's tests, will anger win as compassion slowly dies,
once unchained, will's tense, of past or the future's proud;
mirror, mirror; alas my very soul's respect for all life,
life kept in peace, before conception's inquest's snide;
rejection's mean, suspicious wane and crossing winds now sing,
meant forms, or shadow's shear; I hear as all collides;
face up this fact, and sense, mourn this reasoning of my blind,
fulfilling's acceptance; of truths I stand beside.

Universal fears, an unclean world, this wound yet bleeds in sin,
humankind's distain; it's distance glares out above;
consciousness is an unconscious theme, from god away you've turned,
crypts open wide, yet in sin you hide from ‘his' dove;
decision, an easy prospects bet, that line is fixed enough,
accept this simple word; the coming's near, you've heard;
rectify this, and clarify that, why wait, self's knowledge hums,
everyone pleads, but God why me; as ‘that' oven burns!