Decrepit

Psychosomatic condition,
my heart’s own rendition,
subsides and yes I do listen
to your blunt position.

Shot goes a gun it is murder
of my life as it goes ever by.
A mind implores you pursue
and understand where I lie.

I see hazy an interpretation
of my aspect my positions.
Your gaze upon my shores
freeze me as moon glistens. 

What am I you see me ask
to my heart and soul crass?
An expressed admonition for
what led me become aghast.

So I’ll take this soul to free it
in a garden or orchard plush.
I will purge hate and anger me
my decrepit self I’ve enough.

Elevate me my friendly eye,
whom I pray you are ally,
for I mull deep into night
’til I’m ready to heart supply.

2 Comments Add yours

  1. SRIKANTH says:

    Nice poem JW 👍🤝

    Liked by 1 person

    1. JW says:

      Thank you Sir!

      Liked by 1 person

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