Futile endeavor
To chase ghosts
That haunt the periphery
Of guilt-ridden experience,
Joy to dust turned,
Reflected in such a ghastly mirror
That doth create the shade
Of a once-brilliant light,
A mad play of memory
Conspiring to move against
A positive future
For the wrath of the spectre
That never was.
Lost and confused,
The ring buried,
The church forgotten,
The vows unspoken.
No comments:
Post a Comment