Gradual Decline

Imbued by Jacob's Imaginary Number

In moments of
Solitude
Where the weariness
Of words
Often runs parallel
To losing them
Intersecting into
Angles of reality
As the postulated
Theorems of time
Arced against a
Young spirit
But an obtused mind
Forced to eat π
Off the tables of reflection
And gradual decline
As the sweetness of his
Mind is fed poison
By the cruel hands
Of time
Knowing the alphabet
And reciting them
Is divisible by a death
Where the only remainder
Is sovereign solitude
Of what used to be
What is now and
What is yet to come

Reviews

[Jennesis]

i love the line, 'as the sweetness of his mind is fed poison by the cruel hands of time' Just makes me think of how we have to keep it all fresh so we don't lose it to stagnancy. Nice flow