Lamentations of Words

Are the words whole, or their slices of different meanings being assembled

From irrelevant situations, their predicament of being stretched and jumbled

Pulled away from their ancient wanderings as we fail them with our effort

The pen never has a chance to bathe in thoughtful ink and barely becomes a consort

Those silent eyes stare at the glaring misgivings and the ability to distort

It is not obeisance, but mere enthusiasm to surpass the deeds of a forgotten yore

Simply, they feel the drudgery of being scraped along the spaces like a dreadful chore

Nothing offered to the altar anymore for fear of being rejected by their disarray

They have broken free from the sanctity of feelings; now they efficiently stray

Sculpted castles in the air, dreams fraught with chicanery, for they rarely obey


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