Young Writers Society

The silence is a traitor to my ambition

The loitering inclarity is the side-effect of agitation

As I am held in suspension

Such deep waters my mind consists

Yet my energy is hollow with anticipation

Such exasperation

Causes such shallow contemplation

Fine,

I surrender my heart to the pain

Is it the foreign memory?

The unnerving uncertainty?

The proclamation of unseen friends?

Un-played spring days?

Is this anxiety?

Dreary lives delaying our jubilance

As time elapses gradually

And if not for joy,

For the deceased

And the reluctant carcass

Of happiness

Lolls in the fields of depression

And basks in the sun of miserable processions

And in the triumph of our silence

My employed ideas

Seethe with serpent tongues

Stating their clarity

But I ignore their voices

They reassure my desires

With empty promises of hope and opportunity

My energy has ceased

And yet I grow thirstier still

My soul has grieved

But my body pursues the final destination

Wherever that may be