The Aching Cure

The cure feels like cuts
As the blood runs loud
But now it all feels like jeers
With echoes of all my vices
Envelope into a prison
Of what once was my escape
Where now a soul's hard to embrace
All these faces greeting cut across
Like vicious snares.

What's driving your wheel?
I'm a passenger along a vessel
Of perversely mysterious needs
Hard to teach calmness against my will
When I'm slumped, and the light greets
In blistering dazing blurs
And the night's another journey, baying for my blood
What's enough?
Not this love, not this mirror
An unkind giver.

Seeds sown in greed,
These fields only have weeds to yield
With frantically travelling sight
But unconscious to where your heart roves
Too far from home, too far to wake
Breaths too thin to savor
Colored, courses of empty smoke
This hell that you tailor
Skin's crushing your ribs
The suit won't abide
As it eats your frame
How long along this ugly game
How long along?

It was once all so freeing....

About this poem

The journey: result of addictive patterns.

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Written on May 21, 2022

Submitted by Banks_Cassablancas on October 04, 2022

Modified on March 05, 2023

57 sec read

Quick analysis:

Closest metre Iambic trimeter
Characters 962
Words 183
Stanzas 4
Stanza Lengths 9, 10, 13, 1

Samuel Koome

Budding writer/poet more…

All Samuel Koome poems | Samuel Koome Books

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    "The Aching Cure" STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 20 Jul 2024. <>.

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