Purple's Platitudes

nothing but words …

of which we mustn’t speak

27 April 2014

 

 

blood-tinged vision cheats darkness one more day,

but gratitude becomes harder to muster.

Cancer grows, kills, but blindness merely maims,

steal life, or just leave it so lackluster?

A severed branch quickly withers and dies,

like a river channel ceasing to flow,

a beastly burden to be ostracized,

by others, yes, but more by your own soul.

Chew off a foot, in order to survive?

My instinct seems too weak to seek release.

A few might understand the thoughts I hide,

those things of which we’re told we mustn’t speak.

Like rain beading up, I should just shake this off,

but it is more like a persistent cough.

 

 

Advertisements

27 April, 2014 - Posted by | Poetry | ,

No comments yet.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: