A Stroke Of The Pen Poem by Alexander Zalan

One's mind as parchment of the sages,
Equivocally vanquished lore,
Relinquished, tethered ink in cages,
Has once again unsheathed the gore.

Impertinent and peevish mettle,
Of impish and pernicious gaze,
Will then abash, delude and settle,
Embellished walls of hazy maze.

Punctilious and poignant dashes,
Through copious and barren gorge,
Will shackle opalescent lashes,
Protruding whimsy to the forge.

Through murky corners of presumption,
A leering grin of utter guile,
Irascible and rife assumption,
Morphs swiftly into something vile.

Each spill distorts the seal once broken,
Eviscerates all guise and hopes,
Since morning gleams embody token,
Inclining sharpness of the slopes.

The pillars of my temples shatter,
The hues get scattered in the gale,
All cherished realms that do not matter,
Are now concealed by drowsy veil.

Despite intrinsic sway of fables,
That dwell reluctantly in ash,
I must obliterate the stables,
To store the realms into sash.

The heaps of dazzling revelations,
As innate vultures from the past,
Dismantle splendour of the nations,
Condemning banners into rust.

Divulging shrines of sacred clamour,
With inexorable ascent,
Contemptuous wraith of withered valour,
Will outstretch neck that once was bent.

Unfathomable myths of glory,
Will sputter dormant strings of soul,
As gems unearthed in sombre quarry,
Immure themselves in relic scroll.