Mould

Something I wrote more from feeling than from sense

All men pursue,
Great questions
Half conceived
Is a conundrum
Taking over,
Matter of mind,
Over you
In matter of angst
Over peace
In spirit,
And
In soul, satisfaction
Can not thrive
Beside scythe
Over dot
I persist
In spite of, you
Entrancing
Tired head
Containing
Weary thoughts
The centre
Reflects, you are
The object, of
My slumbering
Chants, dreaming
Muse, rousing
I, from the gulfs
Of sleep, ascend
To the sky
Dawning, you
As the red sun.

Author's Note

Trying to picture the lines might help.

Reviews

[Shivam Murari]

Yes, all of us pursue great question. I love how the whole poem is in a single sentence. Wonderful. well written.

Please check my poems too :)