Treasure Island

Seer Garth


Mud


Blood is churning ever slow,
My impotent moan is growing tall.
Yet, lights and sound are deeply vibrant
In the clear mist of London air;
I would say I'm blessed with life
If not the heavy ball of mud inside
That grew from spores of this dirty light.

Insane, death is weaved throughout.
Must I fade inside and out?

Submitted: Thursday, May 09, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

What do you think this poem is about?



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Mud by Seer Garth )

Enter the verification code :

Read all 2 comments »

PoemHunter.com Updates

Poem of the Day

poet Robert Louis Stevenson

AT last she comes, O never more
In this dear patience of my pain
To leave me lonely as before,
Or leave my soul alone again.... Read complete »

   

Member Poem

Trending Poems

  1. 04 Tongues Made Of Glass, Shaun Shane
  2. The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
  3. Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
  4. Daffodils, William Wordsworth
  5. Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
  6. If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
  7. If, Rudyard Kipling
  8. Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
  9. Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
  10. MY SECRET CRUSH, sania harris

Trending Poets

[Hata Bildir]