Exiled

Fingers carve an envisioned calm,

Caustic scents stain the essence of delirium.

Starve ourselves of the truth we may

The doomed shall always meet their due.

Step forth, and lay claim upon the barren earth

It shall fruit us nothing from its womb,

But lay a hand upon its desiccated lips

Colossal parturition of many a hapless they divulge.

Beneath the fervor of petrified cries

The veiled squeals of a disowned specter

The release is found in ineffable quarters 

Still, vindication eludes the famed blind.

We surmise the predetermined adjudication

We forget the sins that lay in its wake

We foster the ignis fatuus in the fallacy

Lest beyond the grave, the ordained may rise.