When merry morn did grace my soul’s abode,
I held within the sun’s embrace the bliss,
Of naked beams, of grace, of hope bestowed,
In beauty’s palm, all wrapped in tender kiss.
At dawn’s sweet call, I rose to greet the day,
Like dew upon the humble weed’s green blade,
Or cauliflower, arms outstretched, in play,
Beneath the sun’s warm touch, my joy displayed.
From crow’s caw to cathedral’s solemn chime,
Amidst the buzzing throng and blaring horn,
I glimpsed a hope, a river’s joy, sublime,
In life’s tumultuous and noisy morn.
Yet soon, I waned, a baobab’s fading form,
Lining streets of porcelain cheer,
As slag upon a tender, milky norm,
My spirit lost, awoke to an inner sneer.
Alas! I seek no solace in my soul,
For hell’s own dance, a demon’s disco call,
While all within me yearns to be made whole,
I hear Asmodeus’ whisper; “Who loves thee now?”
Today, I’ve pitched a tent,
In my eyes for Beelzebub.
Come, master of the day, thy dark descent,
Let none of me listen to St. Mary’s cry.
