And so
Still
I will rise
From unsettling somnambulation that wove through shadowy spectres of my unconscious
From violent vacant visions and slow dance Macabre hunting beneath Lunar glow
I will
Scratch silent the repeat of the turning table and let the rhythm be
Let limbs launch me into the ache of awake and march 1,2,3, 1,2,3 into empty
Still
I scribble another cliche on a page that delivers only sighs or the aversion of eyes
As lonely as its producer, pumped out like a mass made grief
And so
Lids blink and fingers sink into heavy and disappear into my thinking
Tea. Tea is made and I crease not a smile for weekend’s masquerade
-
Author:
sylviasearcher (
Offline) - Published: January 30th, 2023 15:14
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 19
Offline)
Comments3
Good one!
Thank you
I came, I saw, I admired from a distance and yet, some called me blind ..
it has been far too long .. Neville
Thanks Nevillle
really like the rhythm of this
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.