Recently used as the primary lyric behind a song, this is not an "up" piece, but an expression of a worldview that is tainted sometimes by world-weariness. Still, a good lyrical poem, nonetheless.
Sisyphus and Promethus
this is not a love poem.
for love does not lay upon me
like sweat and air
and the sour taste of rain.
it is a moment
captured like a firefly
and left in the jar
too long to survive.
but it is an honest thought
and it retains at least
the shape and substance
from whence it came.
pain. self-pity. loathing.
a world weariness like poison
driven in with careless needles
to steal what little remains.
William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.
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