PAINTING MY VIGNETTE

The mirror stares back at me,
The sand flows up the slit,
I hear the preaching,
Molten glass is deafening,
Free in my own penitentiary,
Am amazed by my pertinacity,
The presidium is premonitory,
The perfect physiognomy,
My rostrum, infested by treachery,
Fall of The citadel,
I am the clairvoyant sentry.

My cuffs and collars are red
I love this hatred,
This is my recall,
The front, about to fall......

Petals of a red rose, pattern of scattering,
I lay low, still and I am greiving,
Greiving my own demise,
Painting my vignette with a blood sacrifice.

I am pulled apart, I see myself at steps,
I stand anew, I see the view,
That heap of lies, false disguise,
Slowly making way, with the flow,
I found my natal glow.