morgen

I am not to speak
Pale
His being
Unable to convey
Or obey
I suffocate
Entrenched
Drenched
In silence

Repel, every word
Dispel, every myth
Let us propel,
into eternity

I am to give you up entirely
Without which I shall be reduced
For sure
To mediocrity
Who needs such a figure
When you can diffuse in the air
To Permeate
Or Disappear
I no longer care.
I only wanted to hear
The wisp whispers
Of existence
Of acknowledgement
But you would not even
Grant me that

My dear
If you find me
Stooped like a shoot
Of an uncouth lunatic
Irretrievable
Irredeemable
Do nothing
Even if this is your own doing.

The poet strives in his tales
To achieve the symbolical
Exalting his demon
Immortalizing his sadness
His tragedy of melancholy
Pale pale
I see nothing to be gained

But yonder,
I see nothing too.
Who is to console me?