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Poem

self-indulgent blues...


my voice is hoarse
from the silence of my relentless screams

my very self rots
in the darkened cave of my misplaced dreams

all of everything that once kept the knotted peace
is now tattered and in pieces

twisting in the howling wind of the futile present

wasting away with each breath that it thirstily seizes

when all is gained yet all seems sour and effortlessly lost

the remnants of each day wind up counting the dreadful cost

of an emptiness embraced and a solitude ushered deep inside

of a lost mind and a wandering soul

aimlessly stumbling for a place to hide

when thirty eight years seems far too late

to clamber out of this worthless state

and when another day seems entangled in the frayed strands of pitiless fate

it reduces the sum of all that has been lived

to a soiled emotionless moment of deadened grace

while the wandering soul drifts further away 

from ports of call into emptier space

where will all this dock if ever at all

the flailing untethered emotions diving as they keel over and fall

down into the crevasse of nothingness in the end

breaking and shattering further 

all that now has become impossible to mend

while the lunatic within refuses to bend

like a wound that festers ever on and on
becoming fruitless to tend

so much effort to churn out such pitiful verse and pathetic rhyme

worth nothing at all
today, tomorrow
or in a month's time

so as this pen is laid down tonight

it is surrendered gladly
for i'm far too fatigued to fight...

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