poetry = nonsense
nonsense = meaninglessness
meaninglessness = void
void = nothingness
nothingness = spirit

Cold Heart
At times a glimpse I catch of the madness raging inside a place for ill thoughts to hatch. Such visions I must push aside for this is the stuff of suicide, murder and inhumanity; the many paths to tragedy. Tightly bottled these demons inside me dwell. There they wait for summons festering, machinating their hell concocting plans for me to fell. Woe to me that I be weak and vigilance fail to keep! For as surely as bubbles in champagne must rise my effort each day redoubles but I fear may not suffice. Lock me up my brethren! For rage wells within. Chain me fast then! For my strength grows thin.
Copyright © 2011 Erick Calder
All Rights Reserved
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