The Chalice of Night
Pain pierces, like switch blades, within, I bleed,
Howls of dry weary lands, in mind, I heed;
Heart, haunted, endlessly hustles-bustles,
Sleep so sleepless; fright in fearful puzzles;
Love; its loss; its longing; long languishing,
My chalice is bitter; peace-vanishing...
I hate; yet, her face blows glows everywhere,
Like fallen angel; grayish grave mirror;
Broken into thousand cubes; she in each,
Smiling, laughing; crying; with breach and bleach;
Taunting, tearing, teasing abundantly,
Pain of this bitter chalice sores bluntly...
It's not like Jesus Christ choosing his cross,
Nor like Sisyphus with boulder did toss;
It’s a battle between me and my self,
Worsened with her entry, like tight-locked shelf;
Leave me, cheat, who, now, in another's hug,
I'll drink this cup; die in the grave I've dug...
24 January 2022
The Chalice of Night Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
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