A plea to the benevolent poet

I have just finished writing (well typing) this poem. This is but a further poetic manifestation of my melancholic person. Please give feedback if you can.

"I am a temple loathed by its God.
An empty slab of marble laid out,
Whose corners stretch column to column,
In finite loneliness beneath the moonlight.
Pray for me, blessed poet of benevolence.

Raise forth out of the dirt of the earth,
An army of words spoken like a sword,
As it penetrates deep the darkness,
Vanity, and lust of the shallow heart.
Pray for me, blessed poet of benevolence.

My heart is a raging inferno of in-finiteness,
A horrid abyss of great deceitfulness,
And whose warmth has been robbed,
Until its appearance is like a stone in snow.
Pray for me, blessed poet of benevolence.

May the hands that tremble with fear,
And applaud with ignorant enthusiasm,
Be revealed as a mere hollowness,
Frozen in time; to be forgotten; disregarded.
Pray for me, blessed poet of benevolence.

With the lurking nature of darkness,
(Whose claws stretch forth with light's retreat,
And fangs into my imagination sink deep,)
Comes the revelation of tormented reality.
Pray for me, blessed poet of benevolence.

And what of the city, with busling streets,
Which sits anxiously upon the shadow,
Whose master is called Death?
For into the shadow may it plunge!
Pray for me, blessed poet of benevolence.

'Tis the hour of noon and I sit here,
Under the tree whose leaves cry blood,
While I dream a malevolent dream.
Have you forgiven Baudelaire? What of me?
Pray for me, blessed poet of benevolence."

Giving my thread a *bump* since I posted it late in the night and would like a wider audience to have a chance of seeing it.

Explanation: S&F!

If I was a benevolent poet I would pray!

Personal Disclosure: Bumped for both Justice and Arts sake!

reply to post by OmegaLogos


Thank you for the bump, OL, and for your response to my questions last night in chat.

I like your poem. I will raise you a Rumi.

Two Friends

A certain person came to the Friend's door
and knocked.
"Who's there?"
"It's me."
The Friend answered, "Go away. There's no place
for raw meat at this table."

The individual went wandering for a year.
Nothing but the fire of separation
can change hypocrisy and ego. The person returned
completely cooked,
walked up and down in front of the Friend's house,
gently knocked.
"Who is it?"
"You."
"Please come in, my self,
there's no place in this house for two.
The doubled end of the thread is not what goes through
the eye of the needle.
It's a single-pointed, fined-down, thread end,
not a big ego-beast with baggage."