FC ( / Bronx, New York)

On The Border Of Lust And Love (A Recollective Confession Of Lloyd Charles- An Anglo Saxon Preacher)

And so because the child was wrapped in a cocoon of dreams
His mind hell-bent in following the drumbeats of adventure
Which like and unrelenting typewriter tapped the script yet
to unfold-A mystery of tomorrows.
I stood with a flag tied to my prick,
Swearing on ten stacks of Bibles and by Eternity's Name
That I would never leave her-And so on I followed
To the border of lust and love
Or wherever the tide
might lead me.

I swore by the God of the heavens and Lucifer below
And again I swore by Heaven's Name as love so called raged on.
For lust it was, fanned by alcohol's insidious charm
Now many years later, having followed to the border
of lust and love-Or wherever the tide has led me,
The mad rush has grown quiet, and the inner room
made clean for recollection
I neither remember her name nor the sight of her
The adventure now past-At this time barely a memory
Like an unmarked grave in Potter's Field- A stone with no name
Crying out from chambers of dream-and of mind,
I've long been forgotten-I've long been forgotten.

And as the shadows ceased wailing, only the present survived
With so many mountains to climb-So many more rivers to swim
Why follow this mysterious power-To create someone in the
image of someone they're not.
How many more times must I cross the border again?

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