SIGIL
SIGIL
It makes no sense, nor ever will
I felt that misty morning chill
Tense, like the strings of a guitar
An experience, quite bizarre
A void that nobody could fill
Weary from slumber yet so still
As my thoughts I must now distil
Life is just etching on my soul
It makes no sense
Any scent of lilacs is nil
No inspiration for my quill
The hidden words I can’t cajole
I sigh at pointless rigmarole
Meaning now a mere codicil
It makes no sense
Copyright © Howard Osborne | Year Posted 2024
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