Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

Tell me this, tell me that. Speak to me in persuasions that always end in unequal equations. Nothing seems true, honest, or right; yet, it's not myself who can't see this, you've claimed to have second-sight. I wish I may, I might, be able to convince you to give up the fight. 
     All is blue, darkened, and demur; neither of us is yet in need of a doctor, but for this disease there's not yet a cure. I look at you, you look up; he looks down, fills another cup. Every day seems closer to an eternal end: One from which, inescapable, none can defend self or others, none may pretend won't affect family, sisters, brothers. I speak of this eternal ending in a universal fashion, not as a means through which to frighten but out of pure compassion. It is not my place to say what will be and what will not be, nor is it my duty to tell others where, when, or how to enter into an alternate reality. Words, sentences, and paragraphs form enigmatic stories, to whom not one but many do go the glories. In my poems are thoughts collected: some worth remembering while others must be rejected.
     If only I could erase memories from our past ever-haunting, perhaps I could free us from depression deeply-daunting. Still, I attempt to transform this presently dampened existence into something of a revolutionary resistance. Not one pennies could buy time for, neither one from which one could escape help evermore.