brackish backwash clouds the moment
where angels seize your attention
but columns of prophecy line the periphery
insulting even the most mesmerized minion
that love denied is the hidden anti-victory
clothed in claims of negligence or scornful pleas
but supremely willful eleemosynary not
towards the fruitful gain of touching
the sentient scourge of sorrow
for an eternity of aggrandizement

A fun thing to do is retracing words obviously written while stoned. The kick is trying to interpret what I was going for while psychedelicized and honestly believing my choices were perfect landings. So here's what I think I meant:

I'm feeling like God's talking to me but I'm not lucid enough to hear what he's saying. I'm too influenced by dogma and recitations to be certain, but I think it has something to do with turning my back on someone who cared about me making me feel guilty not because I went with my heart and soul but maybe because I was unhappy and decided to go where I was truly loved based on what is happening which is better than righteous.

This is why I retired my passion for attempting to be poetic. It was mostly awful as the above proves convincingly. (who the fuck ever tried to use eleemosynary in a poem?)