Poetry / gone, but have not left the room…

i write with my quill from the puddling crimson ink well pumping quite steadily, into my right hand
i write from the sitting position for the self made fluidic puncture i capture, no longer allows me to stand
i write with the bittersweet fruit that now runnith over, unable to decipher if i am any longer a man
i write with the bleeding passion that leaks from the deepest reaches of my soul, for i finally can
i write with new visions i have never for possessed, as climatic crimson circles my plan
i write with purity of delusion, realizing my life was not just a collection of work without conclusion
i write with virgin like eyes for the first time, it was all a hymen skewed illusion
i write fully comprehending i am outnumbered by those immersed mindlessly self indulged, in vain
i write poorly, now slumping over in my chair, in my designer pain
i write in such hypocritically high fashion, scribing as neat a bloody circle round my stool, best as i can
i write now utterly unsure if this scarlet binding sphere was indeed, to be my final plan
i write with such undying compassion, ultimately realizing the permanency of this fluidic deletion
i write in blood mixed tears, for the very first time, a written circle, something with unending completion…
 

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oknapp avatar General Friend

October 12, 2009

oknapp Prolific-icon-medium

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oknapp reviewed Version 1 - Read 100% of the Item

Lovely and very sad. The said impotency of the mind described well in metaphoric style. I see fluent pen slowely declining and writing the finsihed product. A complete thought at last a perfect circle. You mind is a flash of past present and future all in one minute.  And then the bloody circle is complete. The poem is well-written. It is meaningful and draws the reader in and keeps him /her there. Regardless of the futlie finale one cannot help but read and think and perhaps relive something simlar. A 10 as usual.  

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jadedpoet avatar

jadedpoet

Age: 40
Loc: Norcross, GA
Gen: M
Last Login: November 18
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