Bedevil Who ?

Bedevil Who ? short poem

Photo by wickenden


The pulse seems tranquil and still,
But they don’t have blood in it filled.
Strange, the brain is at bark within.
Why this uneasiness seems like an attaching shark?
I do sit and endeavour to settle it down,
But for they still dance and treat me like a clown.
Trying to find out the way to neglect,
But it enforces me to again and again reflect.
Surprisingly, I’m not as worried as I was about tomorrow,
It’s just another performance of sorrow.
I don’t hope my assumptions to be right,
And fear as vision seems blurry to fight.
I’ll try and be upfront,
About the dawn that peeps like current.

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