PURGATORY
PURGATORY
Into the etheral silence,
Of transmundane thought,
I pathologically feared my death.
I remorsefully remember the cybernetic mosquitos,
Relentlessly injecting their volitle venom,
Into the scar knarled tissue,
Of my acquiesent arms.
As if waiting for a flnal,
Fatal nutation.
P.V.B. '69
Poetry is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality.
T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| LUCKY LADY | 0 | 07/06/2009 |
| DANCING LADIES | 0 | 07/06/2009 |
| PURGATORY | 0 | 07/06/2009 |
| A SILLY SONG | 0 | 07/06/2009 |
| Rami | 0 | 07/06/2009 |
| Four Old Men (To my draft board) | 0 | 02/25/2009 |
| Love | 0 | 02/25/2009 |
| Crazy Poet | 0 | 02/25/2009 |
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