A poem written in the throes of depression.
I - lament lucid's leaving: lonely
muddled musings followed only
woozy nights; when clouded thought
intruded moods already frought
with feelings, hung, and livers, harmed.
Combating torpid mornings armed
with discontent for time ill-spent
in scenes which now disorient.
I ponder fondly flashbacks past
of lost lucidity.
Ab-sconded, not before abetting
the delirium onsetting.
Had it snuck night at midnight's chime,
a stealthy exit aptly timed
as other sorrows, lingering,
kept dulling senses tingling
and masked its absence, thereuntil
abating to this numbing still.
Woe, did you flee as escapee,
captive lucidity?
Per-haps if I struggle a little
harder, restlessly, then it'll
pity torsioned pillows twisted
sleepily and sheets insisted
feverishly to the floor.
Perhaps then it'll visit for
not my relief, at least instead
get respite to this ruffled bed.
Please come, if sympathetically,
clement lucidity.
How - long until bed-sores start sporing
if I lie forevermore in
mourning; early warnings flashing;
choosing snoozing; teasing thrashing
limbs with lamps just out of reach
and light behind curtains beseeched
to put a stop a wasted day;
another morning thrown away.
I gravely, waving on, concede.
Farewell lucidity.
muddled musings followed only
woozy nights; when clouded thought
intruded moods already frought
with feelings, hung, and livers, harmed.
Combating torpid mornings armed
with discontent for time ill-spent
in scenes which now disorient.
I ponder fondly flashbacks past
of lost lucidity.
Ab-sconded, not before abetting
the delirium onsetting.
Had it snuck night at midnight's chime,
a stealthy exit aptly timed
as other sorrows, lingering,
kept dulling senses tingling
and masked its absence, thereuntil
abating to this numbing still.
Woe, did you flee as escapee,
captive lucidity?
Per-haps if I struggle a little
harder, restlessly, then it'll
pity torsioned pillows twisted
sleepily and sheets insisted
feverishly to the floor.
Perhaps then it'll visit for
not my relief, at least instead
get respite to this ruffled bed.
Please come, if sympathetically,
clement lucidity.
How - long until bed-sores start sporing
if I lie forevermore in
mourning; early warnings flashing;
choosing snoozing; teasing thrashing
limbs with lamps just out of reach
and light behind curtains beseeched
to put a stop a wasted day;
another morning thrown away.
I gravely, waving on, concede.
Farewell lucidity.