Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Walks... There were far too few walks - by Inommable

Walks... there were far too few walks, and too much drinking to ever really enjoy his company. One lascivious plea for pleasure after another granted; granted less and less. The morning he left would be the last time he'd hide, or lie to anyone. Not even sleep swallows the languor anymore. Each time he thinks of him, each evening when his body gives in to desire, he dies a little more.

4 Comments:

Blogger Ergo Sum said...

So, I LOVE this poem. I think it might be the best one I've read on your poetryblog site.

My favorite line: Not even sleep swallows the langour anymore.

My favorite verse: One lascivious plea for pleasure/ after another/ granted; granted less and less.

This poem seems to be hinting very subtly to a profound sense of heavy anguish... a torment burdened by its own weight... the poem seems to merely touch the surface of water, hinting at the depth of the ocean beneath.

8/10/2005 03:49:00 PM  
Blogger innommable said...

hmmmm... Now that I reread this one here, I see it's very dense... there is definitely more he than what meets the eye... very psychologically revealing actually... like a confession.

8/11/2005 02:28:00 AM  
Blogger Ergo Sum said...

Confessions of a Slut (concise version)

8/11/2005 08:37:00 AM  
Blogger Semperviva said...

BYEBYE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!... I'll pray for yeh, like it er not ;) hehe

8/11/2005 09:58:00 AM  

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