Such an irony
having to live ardently on certain days and on certain
breath yet barely exist
perspiring in mist of a purple sky
he’s stuck at dawn past its light
in elegance of that faltering start
a curse upon his blessing
to live the dusk ahead of his time
the rifts inside of his heart rhyme
a couplet
screaming beauty out of sheer tragic,
his love
passionately toxic
why
nobody comes seeking a poet’s heart …
A satire achingly high
having to last eons a certain moment and a certain
only minuscules of second
underbelly of an unending conflict
spawned of rebellion, his heart
a furious city
bustling in chaos that reek of temptation
stitching syllables of worn out emotion
he wishes a desperate rhyme would lend sense
this discord, his fascination for hurt
seeding grace out of fragility,
his essence
gratifyingly septic
Tainted in tempts of sublimity
promethean stunts drawn of meagrely endeavours
he attempts to even those faulting shifts
conveyed of ink, the tangible lines of sanity and delirium
like heart of a collapsing neutron star
prying pleasure out of scars
his soul,
libidinously malignant
why
.
.
.
nobody come seeking a poet’s heart …
©️ Rainman 2020
Thank you for reading.
Rainman is a 26 and some, fresh out of med school millennial, pursuing his specialisation in Internal Medicine.
Besides medicine, he is passionate about poetry and soul music.
A desperate dreamer who forgets his dreams upon waking up, he likes to think of himself as less of an everyday person and more of a philocalist who is in awe with dusks and dawns, the breezes and the rains, the silence of conversations or the beauty of conflicts; a hopeless romantic, who loves tragic .
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