Vivid flavors of distress

The dark sky, black as kismet

No stars or signs of the moon

And there, a firefly, flies away

To the distance… far behind

Far behind the unseen moon

 

I loathe what I'm doing, poetry

I loathe the words

As they flow out of my heart,

I pity them

I pity myself

For falling in love… with words

For I am obsessed, and now I fear

That the obsession may drown me within

 

And as I'm lost in a forest

Of thoughts,

I meander among the trees, my past

In search of the moments,

Those were left in the sands of time,

And all I find,

Are the trees that have been left behind

To putrefy, and shed away their leaves

For time to feed them with tears… n smiles

 

And these thoughts, I fear them,

Their mere subsistence,

The mere rhythm of the vivid flavors of distress

 

And when I hope to hate poetry

I get poetic about my abhorrence for poetry