poem 5 :3, this was based from a dream.
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I drank a cup of malaise, ate a slice of discomfort
constraints of danger binding me down
Fools standing on a precipice talking as a cohort
The smell of delicacies makes me frown
Of shades of Robin's egg blue and burgundy
They attempt to construe the wholeness of me
"So, they say you are a wunderkind. The gifted!"
Mr. Fancy-pants says mockingly
"Of course he is, after all, he's part of our brethren."
Miss Americana denoted with false glee
"But, he's different. A prolific mosaic, crafted by the Saints."
Little Prima-donna said, her eyes all too sarcastic
"And? Why should we examine him in a different light?"
Sir Orthodoxy asked, chewing japonicas on a stick
"Hold your gaze yet Orthy, we need him moored unto us."
The High Priestess declared
They stare at me with assassin eyes
I have no choice but to be scared
"His difference constitutes his own devotion?"
"Damnfool, he's supposed to be the Chosen!"
"Ugh, don't be serious, he is such a fake!"
"Hush Prima, you're acting like a mistake."
"Confirm one thing for me, dear guest."
A look of nonchalance, I let them take the floor
"Show us your talent please, at your vest."
I guess it's not good being a loathsome bore
Why not give it a try?
"I'll start with the fancily dressed man, he is a clown."
"Blondie, can you even sleep with eyes awake?"
"The other fancily dressed woman is insecure."
"And to discern the young boy is such a piece of cake"
Four pairs of eyes looked at me in disbelief,
the fifth one elated
"And... what about me, darling?"
As she stood from her levelled throne,
that which I stated
"In my eyes you're nothing but a puppeteer,
destined to be my killer.
Through locutions alone, that which I fear,
schadenfreude is your eternal thriller."
And then, mysteriously, they were gone
Vanished like the fleeting mist
The tables and chairs of times foregone
Can only hold, one's wishes blissed
YOU ARE READING
Exiled Dreamers
PoezieA collection of poems I've written. The title means we're just dreamers who have yearned of merely dreaming and shutting off everything around us. Yet the harsh reality forcefully expels us from this source of happiness of ours. My poetry encompasse...
