As our longing smolders, wrecked
by basics we can't correct,
faith's fruit rots whole from neglect.
Nil can cure this forlorn state
as I suffer death's debate,
each tortured whim shall stagnate.
Frosted inside, clutching hope
while sliding down psyche's slope
to rattle each isotope.
These energies I've rendered
realize care surrendered
far from promises tendered.
Yet, I won't fall degraded
by expectation jaded
inside vacuums, unaided,
ignoring noble meaning,
basking in visions, gleaning
sympathy intervening
once our spirit flies, leaving
behind gravity's heaving
fortunes once worth believing.
Swelling forces must mature
if reservoirs shall endure
to offer essence to cure.
Nice read - I can relate. Like your imagery and compelling message. We're all seeking the cure! Attention grabbing and insightful. Keep the creativity flowing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is deep and insightful to read, and I like your use of words especially these closing lines, 'Swelling forces must mature / if reservoirs shall endure / to offer essence to cure.'