Sighs And Questions In The Wind

Is love the value, the beuaty of a caring, benevolent being;
shielding the adverse, praising kindly in hand only the
living loyalty to two characters immersed as one thing?
A daring number indeed, the belly of the planet conformity.
My trauma from life is evident by my own tremulous hand,
as my lament seems to haunt my force, raning down.
If fancied a truculent fiend of detriment, I wish a band
enumerated of my faults; give them being, give them sound!
Must I be so incongruous?
When can the calamity cease?
Can I even live?
What transgressions brought me to this?
What is axiomatic, if not all I've known comes crashing down?
Tearing, labored breaths bring me falling to my knees,
helpless to even my own blunders.
Must I endure this?
Feeling trapped in my own body, in my mind
is enough to make me want to go under.

Reviews

[Warlord Kitten]

Beauty is spelled wrong.

But i understand this alot better now than i did then

[Fabian G. Franklin]

Its never good to mix mathematical theorum with poetry. "axiomatic" eh? lol I believe we believe our own truth into existence and we are nothing but a dream in the mind of a sleeping god. But, to each his own. Nice poem.

[Warlord Kitten]

strongly written but a bit confusing even when i think i kno what its about