Faded Tales

I gaze into the silver sheen where spirit's sun truly shines,
remembering all the faded tales of days imagined and dreamed,
feeling the awkwardness of self accusations,
reflected in my eyes of puppy dog yearning
being a metaphor of my life's irony,
one brown, the other green,
which symbolize the rippling chaos that has often sucked me
down a rabbit hole towards disbelief.

Face haggard and tired, senior citizen's age lines
etched in carved tattoos from sorrow and abuse,
thinning strands of blonde hair,
barely covering the crown of my portrait.

But the canvas seen is painted with cerebral strokes
bringing hues of light to shade rejection's ashes streaks.
Somewhere in the terse lips is restrained the subdued screams
from stab wounds to back where assassin vanished without witness.

Yet, in the veiled rationalized artistry of acquiesced seconds
comes the voice from the pit where I lie trapped in melancholy's ooze,
it resounds of clarity, from angelic guide
who forges a chain of heaven's links of grace
that might lift me for a sunrise
beyond the shattered shell of my esteem.

Coffin of resignation closed for another gaze,
exhaling with vow to fight against the trolls of recrimination,
hint of wings appears with shape of horns,
sighs cast our the corruptive whiff from arrogance's fragrance
once exhaled in a moment of madness.

Hate slithers as serpents through the spine,
but their poison is healed by God's anti-venom of forgiveness
as His hands lift me by faith to take the quill given by birth
to write of a journey through the darkness
where His love sheltered when the world offers a hangman's noose.