a poet cries despair | poem

poetry

the poet stands alone among the crowds with bleeding hands

drunk on despair, starving from a lack of human interaction.

the poet is ever present, worn out by night’s lawless impositions.

unseen in shadows, they remain as objective and present as moon.  

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a smile creeps up one side of a poet’s mustard coloured face.

when alone in a room where bed and chair

boo…