Poem 1.1

My Presence Is Cumbersome...

My presence is cumbersome; I am not the light,

though darkness unsettles in my arms,

The truth is...

They begin like this,

In reality they are far amiss,

Then comes the reason,

to satisfy their rational minds

It's absurd where I dwell is out-of-bounds,

Like black holes, that can only suck within,

But outwardly they are enigma.

They want to study, make a case,

Even manipulate,

But are afraid to step inside,

Because they are scared 

That the vastness of truth will suck in their rational minds,

And leave them gasping,

and panting, 

to take refuge in ordinary,

like they've been doing all their lives.

My presence is cumbersome; I am not the light,

I am truth,

naked, ghastly, unwavering, unmerciful.

I am plain, unembellished, ugly;

but my strength, unmatched

can devastate even the most robust structure.

You may think I am barbarous,

but that's innate to me, making me what I am.

My mere presence can shake the foundation, 

and unearth,

which is rotting deep inside;

and when rot leaves the walls of malice,

the collective cry of disgust I hear,

is for me.

Because I am ugliest of all, that dwell within.