Poetry: The Lake will Not Leave Me

I have so far written much regarding the authors and poets that I admire and learn from, today I thought it apt to share some of my own work. Currently I am working on adapting my personal work and aiming to get an e book published soon and begin selling copies of some of my short stories and my poetry. This is one that I wrote a while back, it was late at night, around three in the morning I think when I was caught in that all too familiar lunacy of over-tiredness where suddenly and subtlety the world feels just that little bit more magic. So this is my poem. Apologies for the nonsense, I find I always get very carried away with poetry, and the sound of language, it is why I love writing it.

The Lake will not Leave me

Oh how the shards of our misty,

White lake cut and Burn.

The billowed clouds excrete,

From giant Egg in the folds,

It hollers at the shoreline,

And the seeds of faceless Men;

Clamber, their back awash with paint.

And they fall, oh how those

Shapeless knees scrape.

Grind to the water bed.

Nothing is left by time feet

Hit the sand.

The foundation of the earth

Shatters them.

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