...Ravages of a solemn mind
By SolApathy
Some days I fear poetry is all that
is left of me
Hollow words playing a symbiotic hymn
Reflection of light and darkness no longer within
I look to the words and know there should be meaning
It is only the emptiness I am feeding
Laughing in hollow revelation that there’s nothing in me
Cursed by the inevitability I see
From where do these words flow?
How can I write of feelings I no longer even know
I care not to examine for a deeper meaning
Look into my eyes you’ll see I’m not deceiving
Orbs of emptiness pierce your casual gaze
You understand now as you escape this maze
There is nothing left in me to…Save
Hollow words playing a symbiotic hymn
Reflection of light and darkness no longer within
I look to the words and know there should be meaning
It is only the emptiness I am feeding
Laughing in hollow revelation that there’s nothing in me
Cursed by the inevitability I see
From where do these words flow?
How can I write of feelings I no longer even know
I care not to examine for a deeper meaning
Look into my eyes you’ll see I’m not deceiving
Orbs of emptiness pierce your casual gaze
You understand now as you escape this maze
There is nothing left in me to…Save
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© 2020 SolApathy
Published on Tuesday, December 4, 2018.
Filed under:
"Poetry"
Author's Note:
...How is the emptiness we feel, felt? I ponder these thoughts as my existence extinguishes--unfelt...Awards
Comments on "...Ravages of a solemn mind"
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On Saturday, August 17, 2019, TropicalSnowstorm
(1580) wrote:
I can relate to the emptiness expressed in this. Belated congrats on poem of the day, well deserved. Ciao, T/S
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On Sunday, August 18, 2019, SolApathy
(652) wrote:
Thank you...I reflect on this poem all to often, as it seems to becoming me.
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On Thursday, December 6, 2018, Drea
(1388) wrote:
There are moments where I’m reminded of the emptiness I feel. I do my best to smile and nod, but it’s hard, especially at this time of year.
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On Thursday, December 6, 2018, I IS ME
(380) wrote:
Sometimes this happens even without stimuli, without that which we recognize. The words will just continue to flow as if on autopilot. But how can this plane continue to fly without fuel. In place in life you will glide out of fuel only to be refuel in midair and then you will begin flying again have patience with self and love self
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On Wednesday, December 5, 2018, sTr8-jAcKeT
(697) wrote:
Alright my friend, I loved the feeling behind this one. I'm not normally one to do this; as I think it's a crud-move, but for once I'm going to recommend a work of mine to see how it lines up for you. Look for, -Beyond the Past- Hope to hear from you, I think you'll like it. But please, keep writing my man. This is what writing is believe it or not, answering the riddle with riddle.
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On Wednesday, December 5, 2018, SolApathy
(652) wrote:
Read it and commented on it. It's not a crud move if the glove fits...And it does, expertly. I am tempted to link this poem to yours.
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On Wednesday, December 5, 2018, sTr8-jAcKeT
(697) wrote:
Please do brother, I fully support you & your thoughts. Thank you, perhaps one of those weird collabs are in order down the road. But, I miss posting new works. Hopefully soon, take care.
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On Wednesday, December 5, 2018, SolApathy
(652) wrote:
Look for "Borgia Bed" That is a collaboration I did with another member a while back. You may enjoy what you feel...