That Virtuous Voice

Hey guys, so I've written a two (so far) part piece, originally just to see if I could write something good without it rhyming. I guess I'm fairly happy with it, but by myself I'm a fairly small sample group, so just looking to share 🙂 If you feel like telling me what you think, by all means do so, and thank you!

Oh, and yes, there are a fair few allusions in it.

That Virtuous Voice, Part I

Needles to pierce and leave their mark, to be seen

Each day in sinking sight, were in the end unneeded;

Given over to the power of self, which speaks so

Against the taking up of steel, or of poison, or so too,

Tying that knot at the edge of reason (an edge so

Inviting in the night) which whilst so close, so near,

Vivid, and alive, remains beyond the plane of nature.

Entrenchéd, that voice weaves its tones of warning,

Resonating where it waits: in the soul - in the very

Ether of consciousness, whence comes to us those

Sensibilities of normal dialect, so opposed to that evil

Parlance of Belial, who calls forth those at the edge

Of reason, beckoning from afar and clouded in that

Night, as to appear his centre of Heav’n, for whom

Supplication and service are giv’n over so dearly, yet

Incentive to commit to, exceeds all else.

But, though here lies this voice, with such strength to

Impel, were it that, here, strength be a wearied Virtue,

Lethargic in the face of fate; the future thick, it thought?

Inevitability accommodates his duty kindly; his will set

Towards the same end as fate’s - but nature’s plane sits

Yonder little longer: what thence be, known only thence.

That Virtuous Voice, Part II

O apparition! His mind’s oasis t’ward which he runs,

Bent on that restful end. A Fool’s errand, and yet it

Leers, that desert lake so bright. But come he thence,

In heartfelt faith, to see his splendour plainly sands,

Gushing without mercy t’ward dim horizon: absolute,

And so condemned, never to arrive. From vantage

There comes this distrust: whether from, or merely

In accordance with, his duty, so he acts – to harken;

Obey that virtuous voice.

Now, thrice gifted elixir (ingredients enough to make

Thrice a poison’d chalice), that Virtue’s called to rise

Or be for ever fall’n. But where his frame’d been so

Keen to leave that abject posture, in which it laid

Enfeebled same in time as his vanquished Prince,

Enervated, more, remained his soul, having found

Paradise lost. From that infernal depth comes same

Lethargy as kept him higher side of that grim edge

Inviting; hence though, to raise up cup to thirsty lips,

Vital as it be, in ushering nature from her final claim.

Indicted then of adoring that dark conqueror,

Need be to ask: will thou strength be ’nough to

Guard against sloth; to fulfil self’s first obligation?