This Mundane Existence
These feet plod. This heart
Heavier drags
Less motivated, whose mire
Of foul greeds through.
Filled up with creatures
With claws for hands.
Who, sinking deeper not one
Glint, gratified
Thereout is shown too ,upeyed.
Devil's outlands!
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.
