A kingdom for my hearse.

I’d sooner die than cry another day, 
When willingness, has left afraid,
And piety has all but melted,
in the furnace that is her displaced,
stare. 
Let my creativity and its fluidity,
be parched,
I want immobility and decay.
It’s where you said I belong,
Its where YOU said I belong,
Belong, 
No that’s flesh and bone, 
I am not these.
I am gone.
An intangible discordance 
of viola’s and cello’s,
bowed off–course,
is my sole claim to efficacy.
A delusional harmony
rationalized in the dystopian view
of loves cohort
selflessness.
Without self, 
and no union to make me whole,
I am but me! With no aid.
A soul-set of hands,
Fed by this hollow heart,
charitably captained by my mind.