Pain Pricks the Heart of the Beholder
Don’t denounce me when I weep
Soaking blows right, left and centre
From angled arrows that keep
Galumphing near my fort vying to enter
The crib the moon loathes
Which the venom sunshine can’t sear
While sadness bothers
To rain pain and fear with the clear
Motive to abuse my space and stretch the surface
On which horror refuses to die or lie
As it rears its Dracula face
To feed my parched mouth the poisoned pie
I strive to expel
While ebbing strength and determination
Cry to exhale
As intimation of incriminating information
Smears my spine with the ice
Whose temperature challenges the lowest Kelvin
While each slice of its frozen price rolls a die that doesn’t suffice
When far from fruition floats Melvin
To ask me why I cry
Grown and gone alone as I am
Although rows and crows of sorrows multiply
Cursing the slum
That moulded the character I hold
In my person
As life travails succor withhold
To teach me the lesson
Life feels I deserve
For excelling at school
At the forefront of the erudition preserve
Life feels makes me a flamboyant fool.
Copyright © John Sensele | Year Posted 2018
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