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Like a season without any meaningful rain

 

Like a season without any meaningful rain

 

I’ve been drinking now too long

I resent it, it feels like a duty

The daily routine that’s killing me

Worse than that it’s destroying my mind

Days on end I’ve written trash

I feel I’ve lost the wind in my sails

Since I was diagnosed schizophrenic

I’ve lost confidence in my vision

I’m an outsider now like an ex-con

& all I can write is the poems of the weary

The poems of the slave

The poems of the broken

The poems of the grave

Where are my ecstatic visions now

My visions of infinity & eternity

The only thing real now is pain

Like a season without any meaningful rain

 

Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2024.

 

 

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