Assemblage of Failed Metaphors
Seldom do I remember
How I lost the will to write
Before I even lost the will to love.
I bounded my muses into a crystal gem,
Dispersing prisms into trivets,
A vying triumph of valour unbending.
I shoved rhymes and rhythms
Until the poet in me wrote no more melancholic verses.
Torn pages plunged down the drain,
Until the singer in me sang no love-forlorn hooks.
Meagrely I urged on,
Gradually purging them.
Every time I touch the pen,
My paper cringes a little more,
And my thoughts diverge
From my converging realities.
Emotions wither like fire flares.
So when I fear that I may cease to be,
I sojourn there
Where I buried my departing alter ego.
Unearthing the tomb of words I once sealed,
Upon which I inscribed:
“An assemblage of failed metaphors.”
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