The Vanishment of Passion
Furtive blue eyes do glance away to hide, a sobbing heart, behind nonchalant smiles
An eked out feint at normalcy tried,
shallow for the imponderable trails, of the overly grievous splintered heart The ascetic mind in endless saudade,
reels for comfort, then tears itself apart For all the love sung, why this miserable coda I find myself, grasping for the phantasm
My hand, as empty as my loneliness, while my love flows, into the grand chasm Now humble, with unsympathetic lowliness The swirling digress of gloomy emotions, cast more pains into the hurtful potions
Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2018
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