I am a free thinker—always will be—
I do not swoon but push forward in thought.
Yet, my thoughts—it turns out—are not that free,
And showing any brilliance gets one shot.
Walking streets a ghost—piss in the pot—
Transparent flesh reveals my rot.
Once whole, I have been devoured
By these zombies around me.
It used to be a tale—
Two cities...one.
Augustine to
Necropolis.
The gorging
Dead.
© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
Tittu
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Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Online) - Published: October 28th, 2025 07:26
- Comment from author about the poem: Written in my original form, Ghost Sonnet. A haunt of the Spenserian Sonnet, the form and words slowly disappear into a ghostly echo.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 1
Online)
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