Confessions Poem by Merthyr Poet

Confessions – I am too afraid,
the men with potential or not, well they won’t go to war,
Caparisoned with roses, sweet scarlet petals,
Well, they won’t go to war,
dining with the Devil in the lands of gluttony with roses,
I am afraid like the men who cower from battle,
Death? It will happen, it is inevitable,
I am afraid, so I take my pleasures by the riverside in hopeless
reverie,
It is not roses of which wrap themselves around my edges,
but long-forgotten grass, that whispers for me to take a chance,
I am ambivalent, I am perennially doused in petrol,
But like the men afraid of suicide, I will not strike a match,
I will not look Death in the eye,
I will not prepare my soul for dying,
Mud-clad and shambolically driven to haste and wrong-doings,
I will not put my heart on the line.

There comes a time I am both daring and careless,
Punishment lies beneath the ground like the perished and suffering, lonely beggars,
I worry beyond repair, into the suffocating pillows,
They reject my intention to die,
Or else it is the Venlafaxine which steers me away from Death,
I am so lonely in this world,
curling, begging, rotting, caring for learning the route to extroversion,
Everybody is unlike me, so cold the day I hold,
like the vagrants with their precious gold.

I cannot begin to walk my heart to the line,
if I do not reach the destination with courageous eye,
and moving tongue,
I will lose my heart,
I will perish fast, deteriorate rapidly,
And if I trespass that line,
I will leave this world with arrogance,
but if I step forward, upon the line,
I will have the opportunity….
to make him mine…

Lost in silent reverie…
back to the loneliness,
Optimism never suited me.