No One Reads My Poetry

No one reads my poetry - it’s deep, it’s dark, it’s dense. The imagery confuses them; the metaphors… intense. It drifts through time and space and dreams, it sings of happiness, then dives into the dark ravines of memory’s regress. Its suffocating requiems that paint a perfect pain, beguile a crimson loneliness with colour blind disdain. Its battle scars from passing life, glow heavy in the deep and purr angelic lullabies until they go to sleep. It splashes shades of twisted rhyme - of laughter, love and life - personifying nature’s will with seeds of cosmic strife. Its lingual labyrinth teases them, they seldom catch the wind, until sweet dreams of rising dawn persuade them to rescind. Its many drops of elements bring wispy waves of wit, and often it alliterates - but sometimes it sounds shi… …not great. Its music fills the evening breeze with majesty ornate. Perhaps they'll want to read some now they’ve swallowed all the bait! 23-Jul-2017