Immured
Verily,here,is awaited fate.
I,artificer of that which immures me,
am befuddled by such hands that abate
and augment 'mid its trice mellifluously.
There is no such animal as time
thrashing at one's mind
with its keen ungual;
ravishing ponder to despondent wonder.
Hobbles and fetters of sullen hue
embellish the aura of my silhouette.
Verily,here,there is penance due
for the catharsis of my soul's etiquette.
Amongst miserable ululation
from pederasts and recalcitrant knaves,
I hearken my own lamentation,
And to my heart's resound I am but a slave.
There is no such animal as fate,
laden on one's pate
with heft of loathsome beast;
ravaging blunder to a roseate ponder.
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.
