tangled pattern

Am I right or brave enough to think that 

I can beat death to the punch whenever I choose

or to continue in helping to wear out the earths skin

until time orders her to hold me in a clay fist?


Have I wasted her supportiveness

by blindly acting as the King of fools

while stupidly believing this IS the real me?


where among the onion skins of my nature

will I find the answer

or am I deemed to be denied that priviledge

as I continually abuse my worth

peeling away layer after layer

all the way to the core of finality?


But for now during the clocks unstoppable subtractions

I go on wastefully enjoying meagre happinesses

and occasionally putting up with cess pit days

that overflow without warning

am I really nothing more than the ugliness of the truth in flesh

I dont want to face up to?


yet this undecidedness causes me no embarrassment

even in the company of those

who can see beneath the facades I need to wear

even if I dont make heavens roll call

when death comes to find me


and when he does

will I have gained the right to an eternal existence

or be made to pay the price for my earthly offences

in the currency of eternal damnation? 

◄ Discarded

While the Sun sleeps ►


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Rose Casserley

Sat 5th Nov 2022 20:52

Thank you so much for the very valuable comment Stephen 👍

Rose 💋

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Stephen Gospage

Sat 5th Nov 2022 16:24

A lot of layers to this poem, Rose. Laying bare one's soul and doubts is not easy. The,first verse is quite Larkinesque. Great stuff.

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Rose Casserley

Sat 5th Nov 2022 00:25

Thanks Mr K.
( have made a slight improving change to the last stanza )

Rose 💋

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