Blighted Chords
A Poem Exploring Resentment And Lies
You won’t find your melody in eternity Those lyrical filaments that will set you free With strings attached, of reverbed life and death Limits are set upon our every breath
You write your verse in distorting ink That reality you mold, screeching blighted chords As you run from your own, you liar you kink A sordid spirit, just cutting past cords
Dispose of yourself that flat crescendo Daily minuets into moonlit sonatas But you, a prism of twisted innuendo No special taste, grey in your blithering rata*
So I say breathe, release, sing and stand tall Do find your song, our play and our fall You pick your peaks and subsequent call You ostracize your notes, therein lies your downfall
Songs of life, in limits they live and die For there may they be heard, their tumultuous cry
Thanks for reading Ilija Begic
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*Rata: Term pro rata is defined as in proportion. I’m riffing on it.






