'Every Thought Fills Eternity'
My cloying succubus drives me
Mad, cursing the world I have made,
That world of seemingly endless woe
And pain. The bodlerized gemstones
Are nowhere to be cuddled.
If I could have love instead
I could light the ornamental dunes of my demons
And call it a day:
A deeply peach-oriented day,
Dizzying fragrance and soothing nerves-
But instead here I stay-
Cursing myself, cursing you and your playthings,
Cursing the high crescent moon
And the infinitesimal stars
That shine in a myriad of colors,
Deserving love eternal,
Love eteranl I cannot supply.
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Comments about this poem ('Every Thought Fills Eternity' by Stan Petrovich )
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