A straw in the cutting green grass,
An introvert holding the base of the vase,
Outgoingly vulgar to a fault,
I'd rather be a cloud in a sky full of stars.
Dreams are burning and my head is constantly churning,
Recreation is a last resort for a dying soul,
Physically strained, psychologicaly deranged,
I'm the husk of a man I used to be.
A homage to a more resolved self in the past,
The gutts to thrust upon broken glass,
The will to ride out the tides of the might,
Through out my life all I've ever learned was to fight.
I've never tried to love or perform the deeds of the kind,
I can only replicate the hate that I find,
To the warmth and the beloved I feel so blind,
Wandering into the nothingness that seems so benign
The frustration to wind up with agony,
The guilt and pain that may never set me free,
Maybe the acts of the glee does leave a mark,
I should rather look for the light than wander in the dark
YOU ARE READING
Lost Man
Poetry'The Lost Man' series reveals the struggle of a young adult who tries to find his place in the world. Often distracted by abstract imagery and candyfloss in the daylight, he tries to overcome his struggles through poems laid down in the grids of a j...
