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andrew-p-marheinePoems
I thought I heard a whisper While sitting under that old tree, I figured the voices in my head Weren’t yet crying audibly, Head tilted, I strained to hear What could have brought me tension, It’s empty for miles around, I thought, No use to cause my dreams suspension, And then as if it heard my fingers Crunch tightly in a panicked fist, I could still lie, but the question lingers, Did I just speak with Hopelessness? - Redirection of internal infrastructure Map prerequisites, destroy my composure, Indulge me in lost ideas, Forbidden in thought, in rhyme, in written reason, Defy all logic, misanthropic, Allow me this, my casket’s treason, Anorexic, dire complexion, Filters lost longing indiscretion, Deep in memory, cranial protrusions, Observed are scars with mass confusion, Scribed as such, “we die alone here” Naught but failing a life deserved here, Articulate hemorrhaging of twisted tongues and feelings, Allegory to bitter, pitiless healings, Melancholic, leprositic Between smoke-stained lungs And liver scloritic, Match a crusted, bloodstained outlook, Upon a false-hoped, baited gut-hook, With which carried out in gruesome fashion, Can be borne by one in moral crashing Ambiguous doubt of what comes next Refocused and aimed at what is vexed, At all, by one, failing to connect, Sporadic in sense, theory ferments, Stormy funeral, in full dawned dress, A full circle marking total Hopelessness.
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Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 7:23 PM UTC
Hopelessness.
I thought I heard a whisper While sitting under that old tree, I figured the voices in my head Weren’t yet crying audibly, Head tilted, I strained to hear What could have brought me tension, It’s empty for miles around, I thought, No use to cause my dreams suspension, And then as if it heard my fingers Crunch tightly in a panicked fist, I could still lie, but the question lingers, Did I just speak with Hopelessness? - Redirection of internal infrastructure Map prerequisites, destroy my composure, Indulge me in lost ideas, Forbidden in thought, in rhyme, in written reason, Defy all logic, misanthropic, Allow me this, my casket’s treason, Anorexic, dire complexion, Filters lost longing indiscretion, Deep in memory, cranial protrusions, Observed are scars with mass confusion, Scribed as such, “we die alone here” Naught but failing a life deserved here, Articulate hemorrhaging of twisted tongues and feelings, Allegory to bitter, pitiless healings, Melancholic, leprositic Between smoke-stained lungs And liver scloritic, Match a crusted, bloodstained outlook, Upon a false-hoped, baited gut-hook, With which carried out in gruesome fashion, Can be borne by one in moral crashing Ambiguous doubt of what comes next Refocused and aimed at what is vexed, At all, by one, failing to connect, Sporadic in sense, theory ferments, Stormy funeral, in full dawned dress, A full circle marking total Hopelessness.
#dark
andrew-p-marheine
Written by
andrew-p-marheine
American
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 7:23 PM UTC
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