Detached Remoteness – A poem for Kira’s Sunday Scribbles.



I Cry a river of tears

So devout, so full of pain,

That grows with the passing of the years.

Through clouds of doubt and falling rain,

And finally, I acquiesce to your call,

That keening, plaintive note,

I no longer have any feelings at all.

The words I say were learned by rote.

I resort to lies with dead eyes,

Meaningless, like my life; remote.


Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 28/January/2019

FOWC with Fandango — Resort


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People are far too complicated to be able to describe in a few words so I am not even going to try.

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