Our world; a place of fast and fading youth
And hollow gestures, empty, yearning pain
And every stranger fighting tooth for tooth
Our lives meaning less than a drop of rain
Echoes and ghosts, a closet, a cloister
Dreams become devilry, joys all forgotten
A man who thought the world was his oyster
Who kissed the corpse of Love, lips dead and rotten.
Hope died young, and Faith followed after
O! Hark at the sound of thundering hooves.
Disconcerted by subtle strains of laughter
The game is ending; he’s on his last moves.
Then things move on, another heart taken
Breathless, beautiful, but still forsaken.
Author notes
I don't like this one as much as I hoped I would.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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This is pretty bad.
You know, I’ve always been a staunch supporter of free speech, but after reading this poem, I’ll have to rethink my position.
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There is nothing I love more than for my poem to gain a reaction. After all, I have made you reconsider your philosophy! What greater compliment is there to a writer? Thank you, thank you, thank you!
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I don't know...
...what it is about your writing...it gives me shivers. You have such an amazing intelligence for choosing just the right word for maximum impact and emotion.
A man who thought the world was his oyster
Who kissed the corpse of Love, lips dead and rotten.
Heartbreaking. Absolutely effing love it.
x
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Thank you very much. I thought this was quite a weak poem, actually!
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