#453

Poetic Reflection

in bitter watches of night, poet is alone.

alone and yet not, for he carries with him life he lives

in memories, some broken, others nary a mar.  He is physically alone

in deepest sense of word, meat that drives

passion, the words that need released, Can they not see

each poem is a cry, a blood curdling scream to walls of time?!?

they will never know, true feelings poured into words

laid down, spoken to keen ears of night.  It doesn’t

do to tarry here in this place few ever reach; this zenith

of emotion, present in us all… though dulled by draggle of life.

Heavy with emotions and feelings of unwont, he remembers

from whence he came and realizes rest is unknown.

Catharsis is reached, ere sun rises…

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