Friday, November 6, 2009

The Sit

The Sit
-just a poem i made

unpleasantly bewildered but absurdly dilapidated motions,
a terrible butterfly bandaged player and at earshot,
only the music of his own accord,silent without actions,
exacerbated by the feeling of unknowable isolation,not left to rot,
along the sit he sat and stared around,
looking decent, grasped a game and played,
yet the air was cold and mist is abound,
clouds of indistinctness injects no word no sound,
amused alone with a smirk and a frown,
glanced sideways, twilight as seen,
blistered with a boring climatic sequence shown,
eyes turned down sleepless,but didn't intentionally be mean.
grimaced all the way to the path of marble floor,
down beneath the steps,pushed and sat beside the door,
rummaging for the music or song in a player,
blankly listened for the rest of the journey with a silent air.

**walked out at backstage as applause filled the room**

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