A heart brittle,
A mind frail.
A soul fragile,
A psyche pale.

A body feverish,
A mind fallible.
A soul fiendish,
A psyche miserable.

Lost in thoughts,
Alone in a world with blots.
Crowned with imperfections chronic,
And other habits bad and demonic.

Wondered what could cure,
Anything that would help.
Nothing could be a savior,
All it would do was yelp.

Assessed the worth,
Of his heart dark and crabbed.
Full of turmoil and nothing to unearth,
It was just stabbed.

In Turmoil
Stabbed Stabbed Reviewed by Vyankatesh on Thursday, May 12, 2011 Rating: 5

1 comment:

  1. Nice.. I can never do such poetry!
    Good going dude