Poetry is ruination
existence is transient
hope fades like a candle wick
wisps take your breath away, lenient.
Songs get buried in the digital mud
of overwritten notes and avant-garde tunes,
what remains are the ashes, of sweet cottage
and whimpering aesthetic runes.
books become food, lunch for the naked,
meninges relinquished in artless,
intellect relinquished in art-less.
artists stabbed with a pen.
Poetry is ruination
existence is transient
Hence here lies the immemorial
crumbled cry of the valiant.
The ink stays above the water
which drowned your syllables
paper leaves the imprint of the invisible
Tattoo of your words.
YOU ARE READING
balsam
PoetryScouring the scales, one bitter memory withers, scalloping like a dandelion, aimlessly he tethers, time crumples, tears stifle the dunes, your past is now a balsam, swivelling in ruins. 🌱 touch me not, for my dismay is a withdrawal symptom. All rig...
