The past is bashing my face and my gut,
And I'm bleeding from cheek as I'm streaming from butt.
All the memory knuckles bear calluses, cut.
All the energy stumbles; my gait has been shut.
I'm stuck enduring this auto-collapse,
And I ought to relax, for I fought to relapse.
The unstoppable knack for disaster entraps
With insoluble habit of discipline-lapse.
Devoting focus on every event
That is loathable chokes out my hope, will prevent
The enrollment of moment in pleasure ascent.
So much motive is grown from the groan of lament.
A crashing sanity cannot repeat,
And finality, finally, cracks the effete.
I've been stunted by shunting comeuppance. No feat
Can obstruct my induction to mega-defeat.
You got those pesky dactyl's beating like war drums. Nicely done!
ReplyDelete'I fought to relapse'...wow! That was fantastic. But the best would have to be 'So much motive is grown from the groan of lament.' The play of the homonyms and their internal rhyme makes that cracking line.
ReplyDeleteLovely writing !!!
ReplyDeleteBaby make it hurt so good in the motive of lament. Terrific words!
ReplyDeleteVery much agree with the power behind the line "so much motive is grown from the groan of lament" What a wonderful image it evokes!
ReplyDeleteThe second stanza is my favorite, but the whole thing is fantastic! You've written another brilliantly sophisticated poem. :)
ReplyDeleteSounds like you're going through a rough time, but you made a good poem from it!
ReplyDelete