Wednesday, 13 February 2013

New poem: Iambic pent-up.


My aching limbs betray me to myself,

Accustomed to this old bewilderment,

I have no concept of your interest,

And gaze toward an unknown figament.

This cycle is sealed by omniscience

Of time and fate and things that might exist,

Leave me alone I wish to sit this out,

This life, these games, immutable disgrace.

I belong to myself and I alone,

Can satisfy my needs and hates and in

Each sluggish hour I spend in this disguise

I lose a star of my integrity.

 

 

 

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