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sean-popePoems
It is with curiosity I find myself without a trance Within in which to lose myself, Give forth to flitting fancy. Foe and friend might make amends In such a stupor as that I lack, But it is with a frightful force I trudge the turgid track. For even staunchest nemeses Might find a counterpoint in depth; A silent song is what I call The anthem antiseptic. Without a stone I can condone, I fall to a resplendent stress: I find myself increasingly Descending into madness. The miracle of life.
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Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 9:55 PM UTC
The Miracle of Life
It is with curiosity I find myself without a trance Within in which to lose myself, Give forth to flitting fancy. Foe and friend might make amends In such a stupor as that I lack, But it is with a frightful force I trudge the turgid track. For even staunchest nemeses Might find a counterpoint in depth; A silent song is what I call The anthem antiseptic. Without a stone I can condone, I fall to a resplendent stress: I find myself increasingly Descending into madness. The miracle of life.
Written by
sean-pope
American
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 9:55 PM UTC
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