In My Room/Office/Studio

In My Room/Office/Studio
"A writer and nothing else: a man alone in a room with the English language, trying to get human feelings right." - John K. Hutchen.

Monday, March 31, 2014

Hiatus, When Realities Hate Us (Poem)

Must be an abyss, that in which tonight I fall
Wounds gushing blood, as yet again I fail
For many suns and moons now, attempting to call
With dreary exertions but to no avail
Reduced I am, shrunken to a cringing, wizened poetaster
When met only with the dissonant voicemail
A nimrod, I may seem to be, or perhaps a scathed protester
Must be my uncouthness that augured this toil and moil   
Now here we are in a mournful hiatus
My taciturnity has caused, ergo, a seismic disturbance
Cui bono now, darling, when realities hate us?
Today well-nigh impossible to sip even a pint of your utterance
To whom shall I avow my sincere feelings in this grim hiatus?
As now I meet, in total defeat, my eventual quietus 

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