oh, I feel so very ill.
amongst my slumber I groan and moan of the strain
and pain again.
blankets of minimal discipline,
are met with the divine passions of
drenched dreams severed through the measures of
one's will
oh, so very ill.
you've put me under ponderous rejection,
left me within a world that composes wet grey skies,
skies that whisper threating rain,
they shower manifestations of unripe hatred and disease.
you've cursed me with the struggle of a lonesome
dream,
for I am founded to be walking upon wet autumn
nights
only to be yelled at by inarticulate purpose and faulted means.
oh, so very ill, what happened to my will?
I write morose lines to perceive a hill,
In order to justify that I amount to be ill.
YOU ARE READING
collection of poems and short stories
PoetryPoems and short stories that I've written throughout my study of literature and writing. Hopefully you'll be able to see the progression of my craft. References to literature and artist are spread throughout the prose.
