The Dwindling Of My WordsA Poem by RocansAllow me to vent the dejection
of my spirit I grip this pen my
only salvation from the sin of melancholy My sadness ever
stretches the meagre definition of morose Ripping asunder the container
which describes gloom As pent up sorrow
percolates from perforated pentameters I Imagine with bliss
my dying time to recline Within the asylum of death
the therapeutic tomb In truth I die every
time this heart batters throughout my frame Incarcerated soul
cursing nature’s random choice of force-feeding me this life The bittersweet curse of human-ness where joy is taxed with eternal grief Newton’s laws look
absurd on the plane of abstract emotions Disproportionate reaction of opposites Always teetering to
the side of wretchedness Suicide is the fetish
of the shadow of my soul I feel like Dali’s
melting clocks draining to oblivion How many more poems
like this is left in me Before the black ink
drains away, and words are no more When the desolation that swirls within can no longer metamorphosize into words Neither written or lingua? Then I shall be ready with one of the googol ways to give up the ghost And vanish spectacularly © 2014 RocansFeatured Review
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2 Reviews Added on December 22, 2014 Last Updated on December 22, 2014 Author
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