His Duality

Triumph, but numb
No dust can cover the problem
No shade can drown the chasm,
The split in days of yore.
A mirror is but loathsome,
A visual phantom
His eyes are of void of expression
Yet laughter calls from the bottom
The darkened plasm,
A piece of light carries the gruesome,
A burden, a symptom,
An old system.

He hears the wisdom
But bears the venom
A volume of tandem
A man of spiritual paludism,
Unsure the antidote,
So builds a mental slum,
A place of humdrum
A tinnitus of thought, of being.

A city in complexion of own terrorism,
Much glory
Much honor, in friendship to brother.
But triumph fell to cynicism
A blackened robe cast net upon many,
Never, to blossom,
So lays shreds of torn peddles,
So leaves him upon a pendulum,
A man once of rhythm,
Now walks, in paths of spasm.