Adrift
Tis strange, this recurring
bout of melancholy
renders spirit low
malcontent
far from jolly.
Adrift, adrift, upon.... Sargasso Sea.
Tis strange, this monstrous,
recurring, bout signaling,
momentous melancholy.
Renders suppressed spirit,
low; marginalized malcontent.
Far removed from thoughtless,
singular; jubilant jocular jolly.
Adrift adrift upon an ardent sea.
Conditions of time peace of mind
creative mood must be mystic met.
Stilled turbulent thought untuned.
Emotive impalpable
impassioned before.
First freeborn stroke
structures definitive pen.
If aware of what wondrous thoughts
run raging within activated mind. Firing
shock waves that hammer convulsively
throughout electrified cells.
Imprisoned encased in vortex
personified. In grey ordered sentient cells.
Then would be reality known.
How great is ultimate failing?
How vast gulf between gutted creation?
That which! Was frugally bought forth.
Into exasperated existence!
Given decimated reality!
Unbounded quality
bordering inseminated being.
Languid failed
apprehended conception.
Remains a languishing
unbridged unspannable cavern.
Ruins attest
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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