Taut On End Poem by Bruce Gashirabake

I'm caught up in this snare,
Which Untangling I'm unable,
The helplessness is all I behold,
And this pen in my hand models unto a snake.

This butterfly flies by me,
The color oh so unattractive,
And the flying pattern so disgusting,
And lo, I behold the darkness outside,
One that confines me to a Hades,
But whose array is attractive to me.

The emptiness is intense,
Life has no meaning: A song so sweet to my ear!
These books are alien to me, the words in them even stranger.
The swarm of friends amuses the décor,
Life has died and cruel is its haunting,
A song resonating in this webby mind.

It is expedient that I leave it all,
But to where, oh dear friend,
Before or after the green of the leaves dries?
Or the owls of the night hibernate?
Oh yes! Before the beating heart stops.
Oh what hope, yet can't rejuvenate any gladness.

I stare, sit, stand, hover around but wait,
I still feel nothing!
I get a book, hands shaking and body trembling,
It is a reflex action, I can't help it,
I am inclined to believe in its unavoidability.
I sit, stand, hover around and look around again: It's worse!

Hands on my head, feet stepping all over,
Mind wandering in frivolous thoughts,
Face frown, mouth uttering words I can't even hear,
Fingers clutched, knee caps knocking each other,
Eyes beet red and yea-that's entirely me,
And this deafening monstrosity-this bell-ends it all,
It's a call to another class!