Hurt. I think it all hurt; Those eyes gleam and flicker and search onward; Hidden views and painful dues none so curt, And below the frown, a clown with a shadow torch made of birch. Willed-frame expression gave over, to a dreary landscape; Wonder how I do come back Such ill-fated dreams and streams and clover, I run over and over till ground is black. Terrace face with a destiny somewhere found, Pretense that I make or break while I shift As built on high, a domed filled palace sound. Borders build borders, none suspect I lift. The rows of tears flow to and fro, Irrigate and irritate the facade of my mask To this moment-dark eyes give a hollow glow, Formation of rock- it really doesn’t ask. So teeming with clouds it is a thought, Phantoms burst out laughter for which is absurd To torment is what can soundly be bought, “Rush away all the rush away”- never far away they heard. So I command this realm of mask and dirt, Graveled and traveled on none spy I suspect Patted down and ran aground, as death not so curt, Slow to wear as none compare quite too direct. A blood spun face I give to bear, To sinewy clutches lost freed up in this mask, I bear to wear this solemn affair, Renew the hold- God on my soul-This Is All I Ask.
Reason for writing:
Inspiration - Events of my life that were not working so
well. Guess I was thinking about how i felt about my true
self.
Birth sign: Not entered
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