Non Vi Sed Arte Poem by Alexander Zalan

Among the cinder of the fallen,
To subjugate the clamour stale,
Conjuring lavish, rigid pollen,
Foreshadowing obtrusive gale.

Gnawing oblique and murky havoc,
Pervading miseries at core,
When gore embroiders lucid hammock,
As interstice to hail and soar.

Admonishing voluptuous sinners,
Perpetuating zeal to strife,
So visceral is ink that glimmers,
Deluding throng of wailing rife.

My aptitude impugns all callous,
The ample, mediocre crowd,
At the proximity to jealous,
Adorning barrens with a shroud.

Between the finite void of might,
And rudimental train of thoughts,
Coniferous and yet so trite,
Precarious is link of knots.

Impeccably absorbing pace,
Of boisterous and fervent soul,
In order to disperse the trace,
Of epochs on a paltry scroll.

While every fracture of the gist,
Excels dominions so vast,
Expansion of pernicious mist,
Leaves fringes of the banners cast.

Opalescent is scent of vials,
Of scorch, tenacity and lust,
Unleashing stigma of the trials,
Commemorating nature's crust.

My arduous ordeal is a blessing,
Of vanquished, disembowelled wraith,
The triumphant disguise of guessing,
Makes me gregarious with fate.

Through predestined and sumptuous glory,
Ventriloquist is counting grains,
Girdling the tapestry with story,
Of solemn anguish that remains.