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A Phantasmagoria of Nonsense
I searched in vain for inspiration.
I even climbed the sacred Parnassus
Where all the muses reside.
I danced with them
Engaged in endless discourse.
All in vain.
Then I resigned to my fate.
Oh Pythagoras? How I refused
Ever to believe in your metempsychosis?
Alas that meritocracy should be reborn
Reborn to write again,
Reborn from darkness and void
Reborn to mock myself again.
With a splash of painted words,
Disjointed, without sense.
A sickly morbid earthling
Fed on the slums and dregs of earth,
Pampered on deadly drugs.,
Only to be haunted by a thousand empty dreams.
Now I solely scribble:
A mass of oddly disjointed lines,
Words upon words, a phantasmagoria of nonsense,
While ashes fall upon the yellow pages
Scented with nicotine of stale cigars.
Copyright ©
Victor Buhagiar
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