I’ve no poetry only malaise.
Life intrudes and I’m unable to believe in diatribes and excess
and flourishes and pronouncements
I just can’t.
I’ve no poetry only strife.
Real obstacles that make me cynical in what I see
lacking hope for what could be
I just won’t.
Say anything or express myself anymore.
It’s redundant and phony
it’s hollow and shallow
a ruse and just taxing
Won’t allow those tired feelings and beliefs to just flow
Can’t allow vulnerability to manifest and show
Refuse to call anything truth even so
While I sit here and ruminate, self-indulgent and low
I’ve no poetry only contempt.
For the words in my mind
and the integrity of my soul
it’s all lies.