PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

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most often a walking, 

talking agglomerate 

of bipedal constriction,

incessantly longing

of some scintilla of solitude,

lost were the days of joyous tutelage,

entombed in his most recent 

nightmarish truth,

meandering among a 

stoic and weeping world 

of isolate, but recognised faces,

detached, collapsed, mangled,

crippled and torn 

into bits and pieces of rath

left from the scourges 

of love's albatross still in situ,

every sunset, no rest, 

but amassed density 

within each slumber

and every sunrise 

the burden expounded 

on his withering reserves,

no inkling or cue of enlightenment

knocked upon the doors

of his tortured existence,

and he never meant to unleash

his fury and beat

a four year old 

recently bereft 

of a mother like that,

but somehow,

he allowed himself

to justify it.

10:11 PM 7/21/2013 ©

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