Tasting the Defeat
*****Tasting the defeat****
Here he is, O'lord;
Lying in an old, sullen and reeking room,
twisted within chains of anger and hatred;
Glowing with the reminiscence of past,
waiting for the death, once he is defeated;
A cacophony is being echoed,
and his gaze is loosing fight with the haze,
heaved with burdens of expectations, once he used to lift;
he is nothing now but a smoke of his own,
withering away as the currents of air shift;
Between the soul and the sane, he tries to suppress the rift;
Devoid of a decent, genuine motive,
he fails to wear his old persona,
and it doesn't matter how hard he tries;
He speaks, shouts, cries, murmurs and sobs,
holds himself with crossed arm and swollen eyes;
burning in his pain and agony,
he, slowly, exhales the mist in his mind,
Tired with the deafening shouts,
He gets terrified with the mere whisper of wind;
he lifts up his eyes and turns,
to look at me in the mirror,
into a painful smile, his lips are twisted;
he pleads before me to save myself,
before he turns into a corpse and I get defeated.
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.
