An Octave of Reality
I find everyone riding the acme of jubilance,
but weeping at their inflated gloominess
Thy lords have created everything,
yet every pneuma is suffering
If you watch closely,
there is so much satire in this tiny sphere,
Every leaf that breathes,
hides an ache deep underneath.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
