Pathos

Death-like phantom, pathos, so dusk dark, seems to be calling, Though not dry, like autumn leaves, in dreams, I feel like falling; Where do all these illusions, like morning mushrooms, spring from? Where do illnesses, like termites in weaker wood, fast germ? Pathos peeps from the soul, like a mouse from a filthy hole, Scrolls, like krait, bites, pouring within pure poison bowl; Though not willing, owing impulse, I get so fast succumb, Like a knave, forgotten his true self, I go madly numb. Pathos casts my directions like the rudder in a ship, From optimism to pessimism it changes fast the trip; Finding feeble before the goals like Parkinson it shakes, Like a kite whose thread is broken, it falls and licks dust flakes. Anguish aggravates pathos; causing pains anonymous, Humanity and the surroundings increase emptiness; Fear, distress, panic... all get imported by the same boat, Life turns into a den of devils of deviant gloat... Pathos, as though fallen in a deep well, seeks sympathy, Pity, anger, honey-flowing words, and wants empathy; Positive thinking, prayerful living, and divine depth, Pave the way to pass from pathos to existential breadth! 25 September 2021 ''P'' Contest, New or Old Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Constance La France