( I wrote this poem with a troubled mind. I had to express myself. Poetry is a good hiding place for feelings as much as it's a good place for excreting negative feeling. I'm a poet in my own right, in my own world)
Its morning and already I mourn the day
Last dawn I moaned wanting darkness at bay
But last night tight with repressed might
I prayed that my thoughts shall be right
For lately my skin crawls with horror
My eyes miss the beauty of my flora
There are spiders spinning yarns in my web
Mystery saps my knowledge to lowest ebb
Would I were stronger I would wage a war
I'd fight like a lion with thorn in its paw
Growl and purr like a leopard in dire straits
Rock and bounce like cargo ship with shifty freight
To attract attention to grey spiders weaving my trap
I'd scream and shout in tantrums of a spoiled brat
So as to avoid being entrapped in this large menacing net
Chaos is not my fate and even for destiny I'm not ready to bet
I await, I shall wait, I'm waiting with nervous anticipation
Fearful that some dawns may bring the spiders emancipation
And set them free unto my comfort zones to twirl my world
When even then my screams would be as empty as a lunatic's word
I hope beyond hope that the spiders will shrink into flighty flies
So I can with one spray destroy them afore precious time flys
Help me nurture trust in hope as a cure to monstrously mounting fear
That then when morning comes I'll lend happiness a joyful tear.
Author: Andrew Sesinyi
