Older poem written on the 24, during a friendly but anxious live stream.
Worry Prophet I
A constant plague, elusive signals of decay
pester in my lungs. I can't stop prancing to
prattling chains, singing soliiques to my shackles.
Something is wong, or about to be, oh
my future readers I longed to make
a coliseum before the tolling of my bell.
Ashen lipped, I'll publish in hell.
This one is pretty scary. The first four lines create a haunting feeling of death looming on the horizon and not being able to escape the inevitable. The last three lines feel like a mournful final goodbye, but there’s also a small ray of light in this darkness. “I’ll publish in hell” implies that not even death can separate you from your passion and goals. Overall, this poem creates a rather chilling atmosphere that makes me feel worried as well.
ReplyDelete