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.




27 April, 2014 - Posted by | Poetry | ,

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