I’ve found hypocrisy in a mouthful,
guilt in a morsel,
sin after sin, mindful,
and strangely, conveniently,
forgetful.
A satiation of sorts,
severed from thought,
the interstitial,
the residual,
carnal taunts.
Prodding whispers,
and gallant replies,
ego servitude,
smothered lies,
here I am,
there I’m not,
a slave of evil,
matter how hard I try.
As long as my children are safe,
as long as their bellies satiated,
I can mourn in the morning,
and feast in the evening.
And why am I so,
wavering in and out of states,
a haphazardous molotov,
of grief and joy,
sinister ploy,
ignorance and enlightenment,
reconciling at the pull of social deploy.
Here is the battlefront,
the war that rumbles and pulls on desires,
here is Syria,
welcome Wesam to hell,
your insides,
an ever kindling fire.
W.E.
lonerloaner 