damned

what does it take to be a saviour?

a moment of anger borne of
self pity,a cruel disregard of
the cry for love.a language
of compassion lost in abuses
muttered under cowardly breath,
the fear of gaping holes left from
necessary letting go,ingratitude
smirking from its misplaced pedestal,
as gentleness falls by autumnal grass,
crackling under feet that must climb,
higher,to ever rising pinnacles of
vainglorious ambition. an ominous sense
of ending lies in wait,ready for ambush.
redemption demanded, hardly deserved,
will come by nightfall, and drift away
in dreams of futile successess that hollow
mornings promise. gashes of self absorption
will run down eyes blinded by oncoming
traffic, wiped away to see what lies ahead,
without the foresight to see exactly what
lies ahead, thoughtlessly drowned out
in the music of soulless repetition.


What does it take to be a saviour?
The answer is simple.
Simpler than you would acknowledge,
And more urgent than you realise.