La façon verrouillé

La façon verrouillé

Around all my soul,

 storm clouds gather.
It is truly dread.

Tenebrous walls of emotional sepsis rise against me.
It wounds my spirit,

 like a black spot of ink on to dry a paper.

Playing a wicked game of fate.
In my madness,

 I flee while oblivion follows.

Now alone,

my soul fails to attend to me.

The coil of my life passes serenely to the other side.

Author's Note

Reviews

[Raymond Federle]

This is another one of my favs...

[A. Amos]

My soul fails to attend me....................

Dude you are master of illusions, another master piece. Simply loved it

[Glen Yumang Manese]

You give us much depth in the beginning...the usage of language gives a bit more with the second line of the first stanza...I stumbled a bit in the 3rd line:

It wounds my spirit like a black spot of ink on to dry a paper.
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It wounds my spirit like a black spot of ink on to dry paper.

Is what I believe you want to capture there...there is a rendition to this one...with the 1st and 2d stanza and the last line groups your verse.... makes one think...being separate from the rest of the read...