About Saturday...

random emotions and questions.

There is nothing to be,
not even the greatest symphony,
a bitter dissonance in my ears.
Falling, torn apart by my fears,
all hell has come to fruition,
yes, but hell's definition?
A monochromatic, dull pain
knowing there's no possibility
of my love going home again...
But, home's ability?
Where one will lie their head
wherever one lies their bed,
striding on stitching, the
hands that keep the thread
from ripping, you see.
The world has had its fill of us.
Can I wait much longer?
A question I always ponder.
What will become of fate?
Another question I'm apt to hate.
Time is slipping away
despite the apathy,
the same selfish choices
that choke out our voices.
What more will we give?
A painful question to live.
 

Reviews

[Irfan Shah]

Vincent, it is pleasant to see pondering over such important issues. You are good with words. The way you have put in questions after every 3-4 lines is a very effective technique and the questions themselves makes the readers to think which is another plus point of your poem. I am going to save this poem in my library. Thank you for sharing your work.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

You have a great talent inside you, nourish it.

[Kimmee Jean]

this is so amazing...i love it...