Parody

 A mind’s stealthy journey into silent dreams

Is often colorless and borderless, with

Unsuitable tasks for the soul,

Where brisk breezes and swells of an inner sea

Art suffused with complete pagan anonymities.

In a reverie choked with fits of black winged melancholy,

Time’s blunt scissors bite into it, 

Ghastly cuts that mince a brain

With decayed creations from inner purgatories

Navigated alone in a parody of certain doom.

And he is hiding in there, on an amateur mission

Assigned often too beautifully to morbid souls.

With bandaged toes gashed by broken glass 

That tore through stranded boots 

Caked with slaughterhouse muck and villainy,

He is left with gestures abbreviated by a twitching hand 

Shaking in accurate dread and supplication.

Yet, it is in there, where he, a condemned volunteer sits in calm repose,

With bakery-scents and exhaust fumes kindling embers of an insatiable rage,

Only to abate in self-immolation and sacrifice upon fiery stakes

Alighting its return journey towards screaming nightmares,

Of formless laments from fertile hinterlands pillaged for memories.