Short of majesty
Humbled I crawl
With dawning certainty
That my life was scribbled
My life was scrawled
The paper was soiled
The ink diluted
cold now, where once it had boiled
My heart is
for this world unsuited
For the ink i found my tears the culprit
At the orchestra of my undoing
Im at the pulpit
Their is no misconstruing
In my mind, bandits run lawless
Shoved in the cracks
It seems i have found
Myself in the nowhere
On my head is no crown
No crown of adoration
No crown of high self esteem
Just a deep seated loathing
When you look at me You think extreme
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Author:
OwenCherniss (
Offline) - Published: March 11th, 2018 16:58
- Comment from author about the poem: My own feelings
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 14
Offline)
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