Editors and Whores

having had my own
i now presume
on behalf of others
am learning to compromise

there may always be
a toxic hatred
kept in reserve
below the surface
struggling to spill free

everything exists
i know this,
not in direct proportions
no, that would be maddening
the symmetry, the exactness

such horror. this
world requires abominations,
for the nature of balance
to be
contemplated, understood

even within the depraved
there is bliss eternal,
however awkwardly it animates
the red hand of illusion
pursued to completeness

lives ever in death’s shadow
all that is good is temporary
this is how it’s kept sacred,
from numberless evils

I am one person, insignificant
compared to the whole
this truth
is an acceptance of my futility
and in that a freedom
from its burden

© Emerys Watchel, 2017 All rights reserved.


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