What’s left behind
We may forget,
Tho some of which
With much regret,
Albeit dismissed
As mere neglect,
Persists remain
As part of us,
One suffers fret
Fate instils thus,
Till life defines
Best one be bold,
Ere to achieve
A state of mind,
To render whole
Wouldst fix to find,
Inspiring soul
Desires opine,
Worth rescue
What we left behind!
An ode to wishful thinking!
The lane I walk
In dead man’s land,
Is one that bands
The forlorn souls
That dead men stock,
They who trudge
Hoping to find
What’s left of time,
And so survive
Their soul gone blind,
Unsure they be alive…
Thus as I walk
In this non world,
And watch in vain
The suffered pain
Those souls do feel,
Who try to taste
What once was real,
That man laid waste
With insane zeal,
Yet nil a peep
From alleged sheep
To save remains,
For they but follow
Big Brother’s lane,
Who need not walk
In dead man’s land,
Where dead men stalk!
ode to Edgar Allan Poe
I’ve come to feel
More than I hear,
Sounds that echo
Disquieting fears,
Of memory’s stead,
To suffer imagines
Played in my head,
That come to haunt
Tho long felt dead…
Yet lingers there
In lugubrious tell,
I’m made endure
Alleged indeed
By way of hell,
What so remains
Of minds loth claim,
Held worrying echoes
Of melancholy!
Poetry on a Canapé 