Melancholy Daydreamer

February 7, 2010
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Lids drear, sodden tears brinked, held strenuous
on a face desolate in moonlight blanched.
Hear, a draught of plaintive night spoils his poise
as his carving throbs to unbidden wake
and grimaces with vales deep where tear pours
on a surface where pounding pain perceives.
If they could gush away the sorrows all,
why then, does he repress the pure cascade?
Run back to the lure of your reverie
as if it'd cast you out of Sadness's glades.

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R hope said...
Feb. 18, 2010 at 12:08 am
very awesome poem.
very obscure phrase "his carving" which does not necessarily blemish the poem. Took me few reads to realise that it's a metaphor for the subject.
Again very very good writing, keep it up!
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