The glassy eyes of a dead fish slither,
Taking in the water's tongue that laps the land
Darting hither, in the head of man,
Lethargically flickering thither
Seated on a paint-flecked bench,
Observing liquid reflect cascading skies
Through his squinting sullen eyes
Abject and hopeless sits the wretch
The waves in the water turn like pages
The sun attempts to warm his skin
But cannot warm his mind within
Or change the measure that he gauges
In the world that spins about him
That leaves him feeling old and chilled
And has his last compassion killed
Submerged is his land in pointless din
As people prattle stupidly on
In conversation of no worth
Gone is the pleasure, the pleasure is gone
And misery has replaced all mirth
For they cannot see the end of earth
YOU ARE READING
An Ongoing Anthology of Poetry
PoetryThis is a collection of the poetry that I have written and been writing since around about October 2018. Naturally, not every poem has been of a decent enough standard to be included here, but the ones that have been included are the ones that I lik...
