Broken frame angel, look not yonder,

No splint to heal thy gash, no magic.

Like Bacchus, drink they merrily of thy wine,

And plunder autumn’s stash, so tragic.


Engorged ambrosial fruits; summon these gnats and flies,

that gnaw and bite threw thy paper skin, without remorse.

Look not yonder to the greener pastures and elder teachers,

For there, scaly scavengers know thy flesh will rot in due course,


And no part of you will remain untouched,

Not flesh, nor skin, nor sinew—not even bone.

So broken frame angel, look not yonder.

Sit… breathe….listen to silence….you can only do this on your own.

Beautiful

Wow I dug that ...

I really like this, what inspired you?

Yes, it's a beautiful poem

Sycophants!