Restless thoughts, unyielding thirst,
senses in chaos submersed.
Involuntary motions the usual consolation seek,
as liquid of grey in cruel silence leak.
The agony subdued in a sigh released,
troubled dreams for the moment ceased.
Rebirth, a peace vaguely whispered;
a comforting notion safely sheltered.
No longer the bitter taste of ash,
the conscious doom and desire’s clash.
Yet barely perceived, the flavor fades,
demanding again & again the same masquerade.
A contest entry
- This Won't Hurt a Bit (Pic Prompt) by Aussie Gypsy.
1450 points, ended March 21, 2008, 14 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
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