I scorn the sleepy lethe waters which strive to abate my pains,
yet is the dissolution of pain more valuable than frank lucidity?
The tincture taken leaves my wiring fused…
A low wattage affair- a dim and distant light lost in the ferment of fog!
Like an express train, parked in a leafy siding,
forgotten in the dark forest, I long for the clear skies
Let real pain re-enter my dulled and limpid body.
Let lucid thought race across my tortured synapses,
I will take up the mantle again and fight the good fight!
Just found this sent to Marie, by me. I have absolutely no recollection of it. One of her Facebook accounts was lit up saying she was on line… And when I opened chat there it was. I searched my poetry archive, thinking it may be Keats or Shelley? Not there, I googled it and found I was the only reference. So I guess I must have written it!
Fits my mood so perfectly, guess someone knows exactly what i need.