My brain becomes befuddled,
Each night before I lay my head—
It seems I do not think straight,
But lay awake instead.
It is purity that steals my thoughts,
And creates the moral dissonance
Which creeps upon me. No
Matter how many hours I spend
Parsing the pages of thesauruses,
I am left even farther from
The sentiment I would truly
Like to pass—not the half
Hearted emotion which always
Seems to escape from my lips…
I quiver and shake, my eyes water
In a cycle of chronic delusion
And fleeting seconds of reality
Which I do not wish to last.
It is a peculiar sensation of pain
That propagates the softest joy—
I do not believe I would
Ever be able to trade. My physiology
Tells the truth even when I lie,
My vitals—the blood within me—
Pulsates in rhythm that I cannot hide
From. I can suppress my desire,
And run from it readily, but it always
Returns to haunt me… Haunt me…
This is no ghost upon me, but a visage
That I cannot help but envision,
Happiness that I wish for, without
Guided reason.
DannYetman
www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com
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