Untitled thoughts

Moët & Poet

I dream of luxury
with a sip of Moët
and cuban cigar,
but I’m no poet,
not even a writer.

Fury develops within
when hope vanishes,
so I turn to you.

But my heart resents.

Plight blinds my vision
to success, dreams
no longer exists, just a
figment of imagination.

My advocate restless
slowly dissenting me.

Happiness dwindles
with sands of time, but
my time still at distant

Avidly, simplistically a
simple, but terrific mind.
Poetry no longer
entertain, but my love

Plans executed without
conviction. Invertebrate
commitments lacking discipline;
all unfolds with anger
and depression. Typical!

Cynical reflection conjure
perception of failure.
Once, twice, thrice!
Price of success is steep!
But I sleep upon the raging
thoughts, tearing me apart
from within.

My mind trained
to entertain and
transcribe emotions.
The corset
of literature
simply too tight to

Thoughts of failure taunts
me, threatening my livelihood.
Ocean deep thoughts
inhibits my function.
Ashes to ashes the flame ignites.

Pouring rain earns audience.

Mind heavier than stone.

Life spits the
harshness of reality.
I guess it’s your will.
Drops from heaven
washes me clean,

My future distorted,
so I bask with thoughts
of freedom from all.

All but one; failing!

© Dotun Gb | Poems


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