Spare’s Disquiet

Oil on Canvas – Size: 50 cm X 40 cm – 2015

Folly, depravity, greed, mortal sin
Invade our souls and rack our flesh; we feed
Our gentle guilt, gracious regrets, that breed
Like vermin glutting on beggars skin

Our sins are stubborn; our repentance, faint
We take a handsome price for our confession,
Happy once more to wallow in transgression,
Thinking vile tears will cleanse us of all taint.

On evils cushion poised, His Majesty,
Satan thrice – Great, lulls our charmed soul, until
He turns to vapour what was once our will:
Rich one, transmuted by his alchemy

He holds the strings that move us, limb by limb !
We yield, enthralled to things repugnant, base
Each day, toward Hell, with slow unhurried pace,
We sink uncowed, through shadows, stinking, grim.

Like some lewd rake with his old worn out whore,
Nibbling her suffering teats, we seize our sly
Delight, that, like an orange – withered, dry –
We squeeze and press for juice that is no more

Our brains team with a race of Fiends, who frolic
thick as a million gut-worms, with each breath,
Our lungs drink deep, suck down a stream of Death –
Dim – lit to low moaned whispers melancholic.



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