I walk across the midnight storms
I struggle as you lay down and slumber
But alas you wake into the embrace
Of the evil pentene whose surrounds your grace
And as the burdens kisses your lips
You carry the baby demons on your hips
And if you satisfy your insistences
you stance here yet in a trance
Now awaken yet you quirm
You wander and wonder why you were born
The crawling, methodical melancholy comes
As the spirits of misfortunes has you drawn
I stop and stand before my demons
As they beacon and reach beyond the ceiling
I scream no one hears, no one cares
But I'm born, shorn like a sheep full of wool
Now my standing firm I am mentally cool
10/26/17
by James Edward Lee Sr.
Categories:
pentene, analogy, anxiety, character, confusion,
Form: Rhyme