On those days, where limbs are weighed down by the anchoring grasp of the despair,
Clutched so, I am a wealthy widow’s hand in a room of eager Batchelors.
On such days, the sombre tsunami trapped in the bottle of my mind,
Takes not the form of wronged lovers, disappointed faces or chances never took,
Instead, my raven sings only of sorrow, for the lack of excuses to which I may cling.
As the sailor gasps for air in an ocean void of driftwood,
So too, does the cold embrace of torpor overpower the buoyancy of my mood.
The knowledge that casts me to the jaws of this livid liquid Cerberus? That I am in control.
That in spite of my agency over this body, this environment, this is the circumstance in
which I lie,
Sheets a silken prison enforcing rigor mortis upon a mind mustering movement.
I have no excuse,
For this is the world I have made.
And no excuse,
For my hatred of it to remain.
-
Author:
Joshua Harrison (
Offline) - Published: March 21st, 2021 01:54
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 34
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
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Comments4
a wonderful write of powerful discriptive words Joshua. am very impressed.
I can't see your age, or if you are from the UK, but this sounds like a visit to the Job Centre - doh! lol.
I really like the poem, especially the ending!
'On such days, the sombre tsunami trapped in the bottle of my mind,
Takes not the form of wronged lovers, disappointed faces or chances never took,
Instead, my raven sings only of sorrow, for the lack of excuses to which I may cling.'
such searching bravery of introspective poetry, shared as a trailblazing lighthouse to the potential we all harbour..
demonstrating that if we could only find the courage to look within ourselves and ask that distorted: image of self, (we've allowed circumstance and society to curate),
the questions that truly matter to us
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