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: 20
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
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