Dead Calm Poem by guillermo veloso

Dead Calm



I have wearied of this language
My tongue is fatigued from this voyage
My pen tangled is mired in sargasso
My passion, divorced from its muse
I am tired of borrowing
Worn words
I am beat from the
Constant rhyme.
I want to tear the pages of this tired life and fling them to the sky
Then knit them where they lie
Into something new.

Sunday, December 16, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: depression
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