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Lawrence Hagie

of

Milwaukee, WI, US

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Shadows

by

Lawrence Hagie

Beauty black, in shadowed hall,
Spectral image, I cannot recall.
Cryptic message, I cannot discern.
Purgatory souls, that will not burn!
Deistic thoughts, I cannot contain.
Become burning anodyne to ease my pain.
Anoint my mind with abysmal sight!
Let none rescind my pagan rite!
To defend those forsaken pernicious few.
As God kneels somber, in Heaven's pew!
Morbid veil, languid serpent, lucid demonic cost.
Spirit wraith, take my hand, lest I wander to be lost!
Wretched cold, ominous crystal vision beseech me not!
In ancient hall, disparate cry of Stygian River,
that time since long forgot!
Hallowed Sabbath mirth, bind these corridor walls.
Purged requiem requite, temperate spirit oft befalls!
Vespers awry, blackened truth in holy fate;
Tortured random plea, myriad ebon angels do berate!
In the shadows of man's garden, the final mass malign.
He's taken God's paradise, and his doom he hath consign!


Shadows

by

Lawrence Hagie


Beauty black, in shadowed hall,
Spectral image, I cannot recall.
Cryptic message, I cannot discern.
Purgatory souls, that will not burn!
Deistic thoughts, I cannot contain.
Become burning anodyne to ease my pain.
Anoint my mind with abysmal sight!
Let none rescind my pagan rite!
To defend those forsaken pernicious few.
As God kneels somber, in Heaven's pew!
Morbid veil, languid serpent, lucid demonic cost.
Spirit wraith, take my hand, lest I wander to be lost!
Wretched cold, ominous crystal vision beseech me not!
In ancient hall, disparate cry of Stygian River,
that time since long forgot!
Hallowed Sabbath mirth, bind these corridor walls.
Purged requiem requite, temperate spirit oft befalls!
Vespers awry, blackened truth in holy fate;
Tortured random plea, myriad ebon angels do berate!
In the shadows of man's garden, the final mass malign.
He's taken God's paradise, and his doom he hath consign!


Lunacy(Just For Fun)

by

Lawrence Hagie

Content to lay where no men lie.
Fervent to lie where no men say
that just resolve cannot be truth!
That truth cannot be just array
of convicted motive gone awry!

No fear to hide where none will pry
the hidden fear that underlies the
anguished drubbing that begets
the soundless sorrow when you die!

Say to they what can't be said,
they won't matter when your dead.
Leave them wry, but leave them
go wherever hate is best defied!

So little time for men to say
what men have said from time to time.
In angered pretense they will play
a dangerous game of ranted rhyme.

It's been too long to say it's short
of being longer than report of
matters that are nothing but
the long and short of furrowed rut!

So if you understand that I
can see what should be more than lie,
the question deep inside your eye is
will it matter when we die?

It doesn't matter when we die,
it's more a matter in reply of
where we're sent so we can see
what's never meant for us to be
the strength in destined purity!

So hopefully I have duly said
that hope is gone when you are dead,
and nothing really matters then
except the fact that life has been
a raging raving mystery!

Now if your life has been to you
what life's been when it's garish true,
a sign of how it's said and done.
Then there's no mystery in what you've
won, it's all a bunch of lunacy!


Soliloquy Of Question

by

Lawrence Hagie

Do you find yourself alone,
in a room when it's full?
Do you find that you are pushing,
when you only want to pull?

When laughter's all about you,
is it sadness that you find?
Will a smile that's warm console you,
when you think you've lost your mind?

Is a tender touch to you,
what life is all about?
Do you find yourself still giving
when all you want is out?

Do you see in morning sunlight
how your life's been all alone?
Can you feel in evening shadow
all the sorrow that you've known?

Has God given you compassion
when there really is no need?
Do you gather hopes and dreams?
Can you make them your life's creed?

The answer to all these questions
I'm not sure that you're aware.
There in your heart's confessions
where they answer every prayer.


Decadence

by

Lawrence Hagie

They who worship, too often
secular, erect pantheon-s
to the truculent of mind, out
of virulent necessity more
than pestled desire.

Those who would be prefects
of God deliver their edicts to
the edifice of the self-righteous
non believer of true purpose, to
morph puritan sanctum more so
than preserve it.

Despite the edification of
moral intent, the same self-
professed followers of spiritual
malignancy, revel in the destruction
of profound certitude

What accessible precipice
lie in decadent kinship to those
without virtuous content, can only
scathe the soul of those who would
be pure.