Around here they call her Mystique She comes across as sorrowful, subdued and weak; Does anyone ever stop and wonder what kind Of sinister tragedy destroyed her mind?
The burden that she carries like a megalith upon her scrawny frame Leaves her wounded and repulsive, odoriferous with no name. How is it possible to irrigate a soul That has been ripped from a body, not long ago….whole
The phemigus follaceous that is her skin Hides what once was a beauty within The sweet harmonium of death cutting into her like a knife, A tired body wasted, like a worn unobtrusive tassel hanging on the cloth of life
The festoon she hangs on the grave of her past Carry her broken dreams that could never last. In the shadows of darkness, pondering her objective She once again asks herself would her death be effective
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Posted: May 2013
About this poem:
This was definitely a challenge which I enjoyed taking on. A lot of symbolism was used. The feeling I am trying to portray is of a lost soul with no hope of going on, having suffered a tragic loss wanting to end her life. Definitely had to consult the dictionary for this.
Hi Serena, I enjoyed this one. I'm still lost with these words. Well someone has to be a donut and it looks like its me. Well you put the words together nicely. SHOW OFF! Catch you later. MIKE.
Comments (11)
Very good
What about a poem with lots of MMMMMM's
Have a lovely night tonight and don't work to hard,
No scary books!! :-)
Love u
I enjoyed this one. I'm still lost with these words. Well someone has to be a donut and it looks like its me. Well you put the words together nicely. SHOW OFF!
Catch you later.
MIKE.