Memo Form The Mad Artist Poem by Matthew Holloway

It seems in my pensive solemn tone
I sit here quietly waiting for death
The wine does not ease my sorrow
Nor my remorseful thoughts which play
No there no silencing them it seems
Death it appears to be a career move
In death an artist is revered raised aloft
Perhaps the guilt of those around them
Darkling little thoughts are these
In this pensive solemn tone
Which sought some celebration
Passionate little soul it once were
Now embittered and distraught
Unequipped with the tools to face tomorrow
Surrenders to the night to sleep
In the hope of a dying sleep
The evil frightening idea is there
And around the cell is echoes
To be kept within a cage imprisoned
Sours the artists rage and tone
In all its solemn toll