Posted in Poetry

exiled

I never told my wishes
But let my concealment,
like a furnace of fury,
feed on my eyes riveted
by ire and impudence;
I eternally pined in thought,
And with a blue and gray melancholy
I sat like Longing on a pew,
smiling at Grief and teardrops
welled in the windows of my soul.
No other Gods listened to my pleas;
No other Sun lit up my heaven,
No other star ever shone for me.
And even yet, I dared not let
my useless passion and vain hope
languish in rapturous, radiant pain;
Drinking deep of that profound anguish,
How could I find my place again?

Author:

I write stuff of my interest that does not interest anyone in my blog. No grammarians, no copy editors, no marketers, no cynics are welcome.

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