Raw Poem by Elliott Rosenberg

The plight of man is an affair of heaven,
cometh the raven unspoken.
Indigent of shallow stubble,
whose footprints parch expiatory mire.

Strange how febrile sanity asphyxiates a poised soul,
whilst measured breaths blindly compose to ease,
desperate to subdue a subversive griffin lurking within,
mischievous as an errant child without scourge.

How many years will my brazen heart endure sadness,
abrade solitude in an oriel tower,
beach burgundy tears seethed in saecula saeculorum,
Imbibed of true elation.

Stalked with loneliness,
vertigo as well,
everyday is worse,
as I shroud my feelings to loam.
Only the blackbird sees,
no voice,
no choice,
only the blind perceive.

I reach out to the phosphorus hags,
Unquestionably confluent with qualms of sorcery,
intercessors of ecstatic frenzy,
maenads and Dionysus alike.

A fulgurant bacchanal enkindles,
a raised cantharus marks its inception,
warlike virgins ensemble resist god,
mountain refuge of reconciliation.

Knock knock says the bird of prey,
I have come to gift you an aubade,
to take away your gentle pain,
that reigns and fades to obscurity.

This feathered rambler never flinched,
simply stood over my chiffonier,
awaited dawn to announce my death,
as I struck him with a fennel staff.

Oh sweet victory slumbered you stood,
In a thunderous chaise of gilded wood,
You've come to make belligerent amends,
with a dyspeptic spirit of knighthood.