far from me, void, bitter man
that I once loved.
Pale and Pallid poetry
that still clings to my ear
through the ghastly grief
that gutted him in his glory,
from the grand gentle man that he once was,
shrunk, shrivelled, distorted into the grotesque–
fragments like the wilting petals of a fragrant flower,
like a million needlepoint tears
that carved out a gorge on his hollow jawline,
which grew and blossomed into a painful vortex.
It deepened and darkened
and into its depths, I watched him disappear.
i watched him fade,
cave within himself.
The brokenness which bound a boundless man,
he collapsed undereath the bone-crushing weight of life,
wherein fatigue and fear had been rooted at such a depth
that the agony of life gone awry
weakened the porous skeleton
that with but one brief breath,
he folded and fumbled
falling further into melancholy murk,
where I saw him below the surface sink.
From my open arms, he was stolen
wherein below all sorrow lurks,
I lost the man of my ballads laid bare,
bitter void, far from me.
With this poem, there is a lot of emotion which i hope is felt by the reader. But there is also a lot of word importance in the words I choose, the images and the placement and playing with them all so I would love to hear how you as a reader interpreted it all.
Thank you as always for reading.
” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”