Today I wrote this poem, feeling a little somber about my life choices. I have to choose a school soon. It's hard being four.
Doubting that distasteful darkness,
Daring to see it but losing it to inflamed scents
Leaves my mortified midnight mentored madness
Trickling down abandoned scapeways like few strangling pents
And that distasteful darkness lumes more brightly,
And screams an impossible use of a language which noone created
Which everyone stretches to master as though their worth is in it
In the criticism of the remarks deemed tasteful yet inflated.
And self-inflicted life tragedy motivated pains lume more brightly
And yet who creates the tragedy? Simple plight--
Enough plight to fill the night and consume the salt stenched drizzle
To make one believe they control nothing forbidden from the light.
Who sees the light amid the waste or unseen
This is one whose doubts of distasteful darkness
Disassemble at the blow of a greater power whose light--
That light amid it, leads astray the mentored madness
Gripping the sanity granted forever as a weapon--
A weapon against the distasteful darkness
Feeling the gravity of that sanity slowly seeping
Through the bodiless mass left helpless in the plight
But something worth holding--that motivates greater than tragedy--
Which amid the worst of the blow pierces insanity and calls--
Calls for long term and pleads for eternity
But still left with the madman who rises or falls.
And in that moment he abandons the distasteful darkness
And takes the more powerful hand who has grasped
And made the one what could create the gravity of the sanity
Left to remember the lesson now learned.
~It Just Gets More Confusing