There is little to say today, I
Am exhausted, bewildered, burnt.
Kindly have patience with my poucing
Instincts, with my broken limbs and my
Negations, my abnegation, my wanton
Guile which is only self-protection.
Think of those days of summer,
Hear your heart break asunder,
Elate yourself for your own joy.
Have you not found that you missed her, the
Elegy to lost dreams, the muse to madness, the
Anti-heroin who incessantly, madly, relentlessly,
Tries to keep the flame of hope alive with her loyal heart.
The Beaver
Thanks and may the winds of Fate blow your way !
2 comments:
I hope this is just the pain of a broken heart and not the actual pain of "Broken limbs"? I heard on the radio from and expert that it takes two full years to get over any genuine affair, 18 months with therapy. I know also that some people are never forgotten. Good luck.
No broken limbs, or heart.
I'm just toying with words for fun, though I'll admit my poetry is more naturally sad and depressed.
Huh.
I wonder what that says about my psyche.
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