My Sentence Poem by David Daykin

This taste on my tongue,
it feels so unclean.
Is it from the cup of The Enemy,
the cup that smelt so rank.
Yet we sipped, and swallowed,
we even nod our head in thanks.
It is so dry like parchment,
on which our soul is written.
In words that burn and writhe,
hiding from us truth.
Just offering the promiscuity,
of numerous deceiving lies.
An undertone of sweetness,
but not of candy style.
The sweet and sickly cloying,
of flesh corrupted vile.
And now my body and spirit retch.
I need release, escape,
I throw my shouts to the sky.
Begging, crying, please seal my fate.
Tears run crimson across my flesh.
I drank, I drank, the deception like wine,
the lies that were woven did enmesh.
They pulled me from my waking dream.
Throwing me unheeding, uncaring,
into the wall that is reality.
I throw myself forward scratching,
nails break gouged into stone.
Then fall and see my bloody marks.
My frailty is my sentence.
The time to serve,
who knows?