Posted on 23/01/2011


The more I’ve attempted to diversify my writing, the more I’ve realized how much poetry pulls itself towards me. This poem is set on a snowy locale, delving into the thoughts of a person whose self worth is dying, through the course of a fateful evening and night. Eventually he commits suicide, but feels like the only thing he could carry to his grave, is the hope that someday his life experiences, and mistakes will be written and people would get to learn from them. So, through their altered mindsets, he could relive a more fulfilling life than he did.

Searing with anger, fiery, as the sun,

Beyond the horizon, barren,

Frozen beneath blankets of denial, crumpled,

A forlorn self worth, chuckles.

Deriding at his enslavement

To reassurance, he’s no more valiant,

The dearth of mankind drives a monologue,

The only silhouettes- his weak frame, a white flag.

Nightfall invites a downpour,

Filling the hollowness of his exposed core,

Thunderbolt, waking him up from a lifetime of slumber,

He feels like an emancipated drinker.

Words, printed, would mark his eulogy,

Embellishing his journey,

Forlorn no more, touching lives.

Those deadly mistakes, his new life.