Posted in Poetry

The Trance

It’s a world where wealth accumulates and men decay,

The land of forgetfulness where God deals righteously,

Full of people who are devoured of their originality;

The lives lived under influences creating banality,

The audacity to even forget God has a large sense of extremity.

 

How we forget! How we do forget!

The communication of this information may be an actual violation,

An actual violation of rules which for a choice, I have no dimension

In truth, this hybrid nature gives me not even a single provision.

What is there to do so I can get out of this situation?

 

While I was thinking upon this things

A grief ago? A moment ago? A thought ago?

A little stream was rushing so wildly, so full of adrenaline

That I thought that the pounding was just a ticking bomb

It is a little stream of admonition

 

What was it? I deemed it fit to know the root of this

I followed without haste to wait for the memory

To declare itself to me, prepared was my mind for horror

As my nerves where for the foreseen agitation

That I tried to shut out the disconsolate moan of the wind.

 

Advertisements