How did I become this,
Diving deeper downward,
Into the dark abyss?
How is remorse reigning,
With regret always near,
And restraint rivaling?
How is isolation,
Albeit ill-conceived,
My ill occupation?
How naive not to know,
No answer could be found,
In denying pain so.
How cumbrous the closet,
Of klutzy skeletons,
Cloaked and kept secret.
How illuminating,
Life's indications,
Of immense idling.
How needless and inane,
All the numerous nights,
Needing notice, in vain.
How ghastly life has gone,
So gilded and garish,
Guilted, by years bygone.
[While each line of the poem having 6 syllables serves to symbolize the chaos and confusion of my life, the title having 7 syllables symbolizes that it is through the identification of a problem that one can make positive changes. My intention was to portray the balance of disorder (six syllables), with order (seven syllables). What is my problem you might ask? The alliterative letter, that is the most emphasized letter, from each stanza, spells it out.]
I love you. I believe in you.
ReplyDeleteThank you. I can only wonder who this is. :)
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