deepundergroundpoetry.com
In Jest
Mortality weeps!
My dark cloud condenses
Onto casual ears, and thoughts fragmented
By aristocratic definitude that threatens my
State of being and has me pour
To a sieve that will not filter.
Like an isthmus of poised continents
Stained by shona wars that clot her rivers,
That will not carry me, lets sorghum
Wilt by an orbited sun
That’s cooled by an ever gaping west,
Survived by yes-men content with mere existence,
It will not synthesize and leaves me sober.
Mine is but a trickle to a quenched plain-
Seeping through her loins, condemned to solitude,
Where blind men see and trickles make salt crystals.
My dark cloud condenses
Onto casual ears, and thoughts fragmented
By aristocratic definitude that threatens my
State of being and has me pour
To a sieve that will not filter.
Like an isthmus of poised continents
Stained by shona wars that clot her rivers,
That will not carry me, lets sorghum
Wilt by an orbited sun
That’s cooled by an ever gaping west,
Survived by yes-men content with mere existence,
It will not synthesize and leaves me sober.
Mine is but a trickle to a quenched plain-
Seeping through her loins, condemned to solitude,
Where blind men see and trickles make salt crystals.
Published 18th Jun 2013
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likes 3
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comments 3
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The author encourages honest critique.
1st Jul 2013 7:14am
This is killer.Careful choice of words with a tone that is fraught with crippling certainty.I enjoy the flow and the way the end of each line seeps into the next.Nice one.
3rd Jul 2013 6:40pm
Thank you, this is one of my most personal poems descriptive of a time when i was trying to make sense of it all and all i wanted to do was to just live in Jest.
16th Feb 2015 1:02pm
For me there are some deep social political statements here as well as a metaphorical reference to a love affair with no compromise ... Solid ink.
