Daily Beast
by R.E. Slater
I lust for peace,
No peace I gain,
My burden's beast,
Rides alone its tasks.
From dawning's sun,
Til' evening's shrouds,
Prostrate, succumbed,
By grave's mauling plumbs.
By grave's mauling plumbs.
Homeward bound the rose line seethes,
Nor windward bonds stays the golden fleece,
No harbor's lights, no anvil's sounds,
What scatters one now scatters all.
When tinker's damn fails its rues,
And speech slips silent upon its ruins,
And I to self make solemn vows,
That desperate men do daily die.
No devil to pay but mine own,
No Faustian bargain but heart and soul,
Each persuading right and wrong,
Each betraying life and song.
Plucked from spirit's winds and chimes,
Ringing siren's song all desperate souls,
Bidding shores of wreck and ruin,
Finding no heaven, no hopes, no dreams.
Dying to self as dying to all,
Mustering courage on failing spirits,
Breaking restraints set broad and wide,
Trembling strong braces set running tides.
Unloosing troubles far and wide,
Unholy thoughts met warring cries,
And there to die in pen and script,
Blood red runs my burden's beast.
- R.E. Slater
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