Raging Grace

 From-beyond-the-grave

Inner rage bitters the sweetest day
Casts its pall in myriad ways
Shadows devour to the edge of light
’til even breathing becomes a blight

You’ll note it by its acrid odor
Taste it in its putrid ogre
Sow it in your weakest hour
Lie you in your bed deflowered

Not a shade to gild the face
Strips you bare in raging grace
Exposed and prone on a chantry chaise
Bound and gagged in religious lace

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