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The Poverty of My Reality

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Midsummer season on my wintry lips,

these modern symptoms from antiquated sorrows.

 

The sunlight of acceptance,

and midnight of isolation.

 

Youthful blushes and the wrinkles of experience,

I have the free will to question my fate.

 

This wealth of imagination,

and the poverty of my reality.

 

The warmth of trust in my own creativity,

and the cold of envy I have for normality.

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    2 COMMENTS

    1. Daniel this is sublime in its dark vision. You have so much to say in your poem here and I for one am really liking what you wrote. Though dark it has a flow that is mesmerizing.

      John

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