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About the Poem

Everyone feels this way sometimes- when the world is not treating you kindly and nothing seems to reflect who you are. This was written at a time of my life where my whole world had been flipped, scrunched up and thrown in the bin; I had lost several people very close to my heart, I had lost my job, I had no direction in my life and I continuously felt that I was wandering around in the desert with no water and no guide. This poem was born when my deep feelings suddenly sprung forth and I was able to get them onto paper- sometimes feelings are feelings that words just can't express.

A Few Visitor Comments

A Fantastic poem, the different elements of life are very well treated.
I think the poem is incredibly good.
such suffering, such self-torture.. how unbearable without eventual release...i'm so glad you took the time to note your feelings and share them with us, the readers. i'm happier still that you found a method of release within yourself.. and that it comes in the form of poetry.


I am a derelict of no compassion;
Cast me staring where eyes are ashen.
Steely gaze on reflective faces-
Bore your bodies through their paces.
I'll think my thought, but give you naught
And never show my graces.
Show me the bait, and I will slander-
Show me your task and I'll meander.
Never my daylight will infuse it,
Tarnish my mask; forsake, misuse it.

I am a derelict with no concession-
Full fare paid to my obsession.
Never give in, but standing firm,
Hold you tight while trying to squirm.
I'll take your savings, pass your ravings
And never cut the term.
Without the odds, you're panic smitten-
Once twice shy, and always bitten.
Darkness is your first prelude;
Followed by the lightness' crude.

I am a derelict of third degree-
The bad, the worse, forlorn and ugly.
You stand in line and hear me mutter;
With laryngitis screaming from my gutter.
Backward talk, my lonely walk,
And sympathy refrained; no utter.
There would be ease to shoot my spine-
The Hatter's party- all cups are mine.
One day I may converse a season,
But nothing repeats without a reason.

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© 1999 Jeremy Addison Please respect the rights of the author and Passions in Poetry. If you would like to use this poem on your own web page, please contact the Author. Thank you.

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