Peccancy

17 May 2000

Virtue holds no sway, here.
Uncertain if you even know what veracity is
There in your peccant sightlessness,
I stumble away from your cowardice.
My honor is bold, aggressive
And even abrasive
But I ken what it is – 
It’s breadth and scope encompasses,
Is a compass
To my valiant soul.
Born to peasants of mind
Paucity of spirit
In the gutter of knowledge,
It stifles the heart of the poet
And makes honor weep.


I fear you.
I fear your mendacious blindness.


A pack of jackals, you raised me
With abusive fists and improper propositions 
And I find
My anger has not abated;
All these years has only waited
To voice secrets in loud troth 
And spill the darkness out of my soul
To let it fester with its creators
And not in my heart.
No longer, these secrets,
In my heart.
You will know my truths.


© 2000, Tara Tambolleo