deepundergroundpoetry.com
FAR OVER IT
Amidst the decrepit pews
Whereupon the jester hews
For all whom adore
That lachrymose whore
To thou I say, get over it
Along an empty shoreline
Beyond those bottle-fed swine
The moon at my door
The stars at my floor
To this I say, get over it
About this wax fuselage
Bitter is that black corsage
Those lies are thy moor
The seeds grow no more
To thee I say, get over it
The Devil you know is free
More righteous is he, than thee
In his beauty, died
In the past, reside
To thee I say, get over it
Apple for a rotten core
I think of thee for nevermore
Thy ink from my quill
A nothingness spill
To thee I stay, far over it
Published 6th Jul 2024
Author's Note
A whimsically-tuned anecdote for a joke of a human being who thinks I still care apparently.
This is the first in some time I've actually given some thought to, instead of straight-up prose. Hope you enjoy.
This is the first in some time I've actually given some thought to, instead of straight-up prose. Hope you enjoy.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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25th Jul 2024 8:07pm
