Caveat: Within

Within

Where Iron Factories spouted grey,
There I dwelt by Mahhalian shores.
So Doctor Hubert came with a Word,
For plastic Angels of the new Hell
City; for mind-slaves of Its hurt.
There I became blest--his Apostle.

Wind beat a slime to a sandy shore
There I began to hear of his word.
And from a dead-empty, bloody Hell
All the eyes glossy-dull by a hurt
The Rats fled; became his Apostles
So he promised to remove the grey.

Said he: No one can refute my Word
There I said: Amen! Ruin this Hell
Dr. Hubert!  Destroy my deep hurt!
He smiled: follow me, my Apostles.
Showing us how to survive the grey
Leading us to a candy-green shore.

Dancing, we were far from any Hell
Hoping, we failed to feel any hurt
Loving, thus were we his Apostles.
Plastic melted; we denied the grey
Eyes flickering/reflecting a shore
Free, happily alive with his Word.

Under a rock, the centipede hurts,
And he crawls, to sting an Apostle
Leaping, then he dies cadaver-grey
He's left to rot on a slimy store.
I run; I search for His holy Word,
The rats return whispering of Hell

For Hope, thus I became an Apostle
Then the rat-emperor came in grey,
And drove us to a cadavered shore,
Erected a cross for harmless Words
Removed the candy, revealed a Hell
No! Not Dr. Hubert.  Not the Hurt!

He brought Apostles to the shores,
He destroyed hurt with his Words--
But Hell revealed the Grey within.

[The “retroblogging” project:  this is a “back-post” transcribed from paper on 2020-01-04.  I’ve decided to “fill-in” my blog all the way back.  It’s a big project.  But there’s no time limit, right?  The above entry was written on a rainy fall afternoon as I started my senior year in high school. You will note that the monospaced font is critical to this poem, since a uniform line-length, in characters, was one of the constraints I’d set for myself, above and beyond the demands of the traditional sestina. I also posted this poem as my daily poem for the day of transcription.]
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