OPERA (Stanza no. 1)

Already forgot what I’ve declared,
the truth got shifted, it’s out there,
thinking about my benumbed
sense: not to be charismatic but sincere.
Free from duplicitous narcissists verses
that I’d launch to the universes,
inauguration of love, faith and peace,
blossoms when someone is deceased.
I drew a line in the sand with a knife,
albeit the Olympian strength
words and discipline must go the length,
strong enough to compete in the marathon of life:
is an abattoir, my territory,
immoral becomes an abbot, any.