Misadventures of men lost in sorrow
Distance them, solace is merely borrowed.
Instances can forever change tomorrow,
Circumstances so instantly bestow.
Drowning one's misery in poisonous sin
Crowning the son with omens of chagrin.
Downing each drop from the bottle within,
Browning the crop, one can not ever win.
Missed advantages, in a refuse pile swept.
Missed advances, the recluse has often kept.
Sickly cirrhosis eats away the pain
Quickly foregoes cares concerning the chains.
Sticky solutions surely set the stain.
Will any miss one, shutting
off their brain?
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Author:
Drewseph (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 11th, 2023 00:45
- Comment from author about the poem: A semi-educated stumble through strict iambic pentameter... Not sure if my syllable stressing is in order.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 7
Offline)
Comments1
Certainly flows well, and leaves a question.
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