Breaking the binding Madness


  • Desmotti
  • The wraith is but sadness in mortal form. It haunts to hunt, and hunts to feed. It cannot feed on any emotion. This is its pain. for emotion is not segregated it is fealt, and to feel is warmth.

Breaking the binding Madness

Inside the lids of eyes shut still framed happiness- wrapped tight in her bright light...
To open...I must not for I am truly pretend from Munisa these images sent.

reality sets and the chill runs the length...of a mortal spine, stripping the last of mine strength....
Pity...oh sadness envelope me entirely...for in this great pitch all I feel is great tiring...

Energy leaves me so soon...abandoned to loss and this waste with her dunes...
Mountains of specs...each one with its purpose...Madness creeps in for why am I curious...The waste pulls ones sanity lose from it's hold then poof...loss of desire leaves one....vulnerable...cold... dream sir...I speak at the twin... a reflection in my mind...I consider him kin...for aloneness entirely puts one in great befriend longer some stranger...

To help you...Accomplish...and push through strewn chaos...converse with your light pull yourself from all great loss.  For abyss is your personal graveyard with times of fell countenance it calls for thy doom.

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sherry122 commented on Breaking the binding Madness


Amazingly creative write, I like your unique style and your rhimes;)

DarknessDivine commented on Breaking the binding Madness


Very good work. I like the imagery used in this piece.

MarionYost commented on Breaking the binding Madness


Wow... You put the rest of us to shame..... Amazing. all the best -Marion-

nonners commented on Breaking the binding Madness


truly beautiful . I too know of loss. loved the imagery. truly great piece of art

bluewolf commented on Breaking the binding Madness


For abyss is your personal graveyard with tomb-interesting use of word imagery. What more can one fear than the abyss into the unknown. Should we step into it with understanding of our ignorance? Or should we shy from that which we cannot identify and instead remain upon a path of comfort? Either way fate will come-do we leave this life with less regrets or live it safe and regret far to late. Beautifully written.

To have great poets there must be great audiences too.

Walt Whitman, American Poet (1819-1892)

Desmotti’s Poems (25)