This Despair

This Despair

A Poem by Max Meunier

life has left us coiled
stranded cold where home stands homeless
fates are given and received
as deemed fortuitous
by minds of muted sound

those with whom we tethered to this bound ingress

turning over faster than the ground that holds
our grave against us

what hope do we have to suffer toward?

narratives of appalling convenience?

the effort spent alone
in peeling face from plush erosion
strips away each day
with languorous precision
while we idly watch our hands grasp andonic effigies

how they bear our strangest face estranged

folded into rolling wreaths down roads of untold yielding
as these tolls exact delusions tucked in tightly bedded solitude

and yet, the dialogue of days speak
nothing of the dread adorning every hour in waking

walking dead in restless wander
faster than electric impulse
since have sold out
of their sentience

fewer stand now
fraught as ever
diriment draff adrift
duly pondering this plight
alighted on their squandered muster

© 2016 Max Meunier

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Most of us know the below lines.
"walking dead in restless wander
faster than electric impulse
since have sold out
of their sentience"
When we forget who we were and what we needed once. We become a walking dead. Complete poem told a sad tale leading to a final and sad sentence. Thank you Max for sharing the excellent poetry.

Posted 3 Years Ago

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1 Review
Added on September 15, 2016
Last Updated on September 15, 2016
Tags: max, meunier, poetry, existence, observation, entropy, introspection, humanity, life, death