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Literature Text
A tragic convulsion of misconstrued thought.
forgotten the snare, of which I've been caught.
Retrospection a massacre, Reminiscence amassed.
My leisure foretold, the tombstones have cast.
Those shadows inside, I've witnessed most dear.
Yet masks like inkblots, have begun to smear.
Their tongues now a murmur, evoked once before.
To whom they reside in, are conscious no more.
A tragic convulsion of misconstrued thought.
Forgotten the snare, of which I've been caught.
A harrowing curse, yet remittance was cloaked.
For misplaced remembrance of life's ample yoke.
forgotten the snare, of which I've been caught.
Retrospection a massacre, Reminiscence amassed.
My leisure foretold, the tombstones have cast.
Those shadows inside, I've witnessed most dear.
Yet masks like inkblots, have begun to smear.
Their tongues now a murmur, evoked once before.
To whom they reside in, are conscious no more.
A tragic convulsion of misconstrued thought.
Forgotten the snare, of which I've been caught.
A harrowing curse, yet remittance was cloaked.
For misplaced remembrance of life's ample yoke.
Literature
The Journey is Real
The Journey is Real 11/19/15
My mind is a mine filled maze.
My heart is a skipped beat that pumps pain.
My face is etched misery
lined with a false bravado.
And as I examine my woes
I can't help but think
how minuscule they are
compared to some.
Who am I to complain?
Who is listening anyway?
Every day I breathe
should be a good day.
The salt in my wounds
can be washed away.
Sometimes I am overwhelmed.
I see the treacherous mountain
I must climb and somehow
stumble over small stones of little consequence.
My focus determines my path and lights my sight.
I have no one by my side.
I am alone and terrified.
One step at a time I shall cl
Literature
inertia
i think i broke
some bones in my sleep.
i remember waking up
and saying i will do it in the morning.
my floor is littered with broken things
i meant to fix. there is a mosquito
in here growing fat on the things
i have intended to change.
the radio whose battery light is flashing
a slow sos at the darkening ceiling.
the piles of old letters stacked like snow.
the people who told me
they were lawyers and insurance
brokers in the elevator
one time at two in
the morning with the stench
of death on their breath.
the day my body stopped
healing.
Literature
Outlandish Lust
Outlandish Lust 6/6/09
Of all the things that I have discovered,
and all the things that I've attained.
With all the lands that I have covered,
and all the friends that I have gained.
You were the biggest surprise to say the least.
I'd have a better chance of slaying a mythical beast.
You're not from around here I can clearly see.
It's not those electric blue eyes that give you away.
It's the vibe you release that washes over me.
And the out of this world things you subtly say.
Seeing your fire red hair that whips
in the wind like dancing snakes.
Makes every fiber in my body vibrate
and violently shake.
I am intrigued by
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A poem about one who suffers from dementia, slowly realizing that although loosing the beautiful memories, they were free from the horrid memories that bound them to this earth.
© 2014 - 2024 AsherMane
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Thanks so much!