MY POEM COLLECTION

#22

My silence reeks past the haunted edges,

the rims and crevices listen to legends,

my body sweeps up in nausea,

my insides shrieks at the morsel,

the bottle of me resurrects in hand,

to be found empty as planned,

the dearth of my bottle is a pain,

to those who started my main,

the bottle levels with no water,

and shines with ignorance as gutter,

another boy appears beside the stiff figures,

his hair a wisp of shine and vigor,

a bottle appears in his hand,

as full as life's demands,

the water of talents slosh around,

basking in the glory of the figure of hounds,

the figures point to him,

and ask my difference to him,

I say in a choked up sob,

my bottle is nothing but a slob,

they say I am very correct,

and glisten with smiles of reject,

they say my duty is gone,

and that I am done,

they say I should get to someplace safe,

for they need not my mace,

I look down at my bottle,

it crackles with a rattle,

pained, at the emptiness,

that holds me from readiness,

for the job of my life,

and the cause of my strife.

I want to thank God for giving me the Grace to write this. How was the poem? Anyway I'll be writing more soon. Plus, could you all check out the new short story I wrote and posted. I'd be very happy if you could.