BLEEDING RAINBOWS

How many more ephemeral rays of a fleeting dawn shall I face
knowing the ravenous hunger from my famine of embrace?
Will my pulse truly throb because it is infused by the bittersweet parody
taking through daily injections of lies about a passion that died so long ago?

Each listless, illumined sheath of a new morn's unveiling
I force myself to exhume my mummified esteem
from loneliness' shadowy crypt,
where I languished with embalmed emotions
that transform into phantoms all the seeds of my imagined identity,
leaving me a decaying and dying shell of being
wandering as an anonymous zombie of morgue infatuated thought
among all the consumed faces I pass who can't even remember my name.

I feel utterly colorless of life's fervent kaleidoscope in desire
having become a consciousness so vacant and translucent,
helplessly disarmed of any compass guiding towards sanctity.

Alone, I am a mere specter and shell of being,
lacking any eyes to see amore's promise on the horizon
to grant me hope's umbrella for tomorrow's storm clouds of angst.

Their drenching pall
washes away the silt of expectancy about what might entice
creating instead a mental landscape abounding in an estuary of tears,
knowing any lusted for leprechaun of fate's magical portent
that might lead to a pot of gold from love's mint
vanishes beneath
a bleeding rainbow.