Details |
Angela Wilkins Poem
Apathy fuels thoughts of fruitless discontent,
as hopeless lethargy depressively descends.
A prisoner of dependency, morally inept,
i,d sell my soul to Lucifer to meet my selfish ends.
The sharp, cold ,steel comfort; injected in my vain.
As the liquid gold, courses through my weary brain.
The aches and shakes subsided and all my cash is spent,
which my sluggish conscience will soothingly resent.
Indifference is my ally, delusion my best defence;
I find it to my advantage, to just feign ignorance.
This life I lead is bearable when I have my fix,
anything seems possible with my bag of tricks.
Now I,m feeling sleepy, this feeling is surreal.
I,m feeling partially guilty abouy what I had to steal.
I hope my son forgives me for spoiling his special day.
Boxing day is close at hand and cold turkey,s on it,s way.
The cold hard truth emerges about my pitiful existence.
I can,t see a way out of this; I,ll have to go the distance.
Maggoty thoughts are raceing through my graveyard mind.
Fragmented pictures of immanent pain, time is running out.
Soothing cold, steel comfort end my misery.
This time it has a trigger,
figure,
time is up for me.
Copyright © Angela Wilkins | Year Posted 2007
|
Details |
Angela Wilkins Poem
She smiles, a picture of serenity,
as she imparts wisdom of the ages,
in dreams - a figure of divinity.
The book she holds contains sacred pages,
strange text of hieroglyfiphic codes require,
the answers to be revealed by sages.
A revered serpent in a ring of fire,
set upon her ancient brow. In her trance
the Mantra chants, send her conscience higher.
Melodic beats arouse ecstatic dance,
surreal tones sweep across desert sands.
She,s seeking Osiris - her lost romance.
This fable of Isis from ancient lands
tells of the knowledge,she held in her hands.
Copyright © Angela Wilkins | Year Posted 2006
|