An Attempt at Ghazal: The Devil's Snare

When the root of all my torments is laid bare
Desire is seen to be the Devil's Snare.

Of where i'm being led why should i care
as temptations lure me to the Devil's snare?

Passion's seed becomes a weed that will tear
through that which protects me from the Devil's snare.

Only of soaring weightlessness i'm aware;
Conscience is cast off in the Devil's snare.

Giddily reckless i do what i wouldn't dare
had my will rescued me from the Devil's snare.

I writhe and moan in ecstasy i can't bear
as Reason burns away in the Devil's snare.

My senses are numb to the thorns that are there
embedded where i land on the Devil's snare.

Orgiastic ecstasy recedes to where
i see myself trapped in the Devil's snare.

Now i can only caution you to beware
as i lie bleeding upon the Devil's snare.

What is All this About?

Why should i circle through lives
while you hurl hurdles at me?

Why should pain be a constant companion in
my tormented journey through the planes of this universe?

Why should i be stuck in eternal stasis,
making the same mistakes over and over again,
blinkered and fettered by changeless lack of
insight into your elusive motives?

Happiness is a bait you bribe me by
but can you compensate for aeons of suffering?

Blessing

Oh God!
Blessed am i
for you have planted the seed
of my deliverance.

You have been the gossamer spirit
behind every breath of life
that gives a body to my soul.

I'm just a scattered part of your spirit
and my body is a vehicle
that will carry me to you
that will carry you back to yourself.

The Unwanted

The unwanted lie fallen
where they are,
looted of life
and rejected by Death.

Put me on a Pedestal and Push me Off

Put me on a pedestal
and push me off.

Watch as i fall
through the heights,
crashing and splintering,
broken shards of my spirit scattering
to where they'll never be one again.

A sadistic smirk slants across your face
as you bask in the glory of
wrested power.

An Open Hand

When what is mine
is clenched in my palm
it slips like sand
between digits.

If i keep
an open hand
the bounty of blessings
that come my
way will fill me up,
tumbling onto other open hands.

My hand will never be empty.

A Farewell Note

My mistress of yore
I seek you no more.

My love has become
a burden cumbersome.

A crumpling butterfly
it tortures forth to fly,
fleeing from being
contorted into words
by a tired poet trapped
within the sheer drudgery
of being Ego's slave.