Dead Abstractions Poem by Ryan John Payne

I watch dead abstractions struggling to survive,
Resurrecting their skeletal illusions.
Bland words shrug bleakly on each passive page
And fancy themselves as exclusions.
I bind them as I find them as fast as I can,
And reverse those uncalled-for delusions.
If only I could perfectly inhibit their stance
I would then try vernacular transfusions.
When wishful words waking up in white worlds
Blatantly blare their woeful conclusions,
I replace each abstraction with eloquent grace
To imprint an everlasting infusion.
They slither off the page that they once had enslaved,
And brilliant new phrases applaud in profusion.