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Monday, 8 June 2015

Oxymorons

I haven't written a poem spontaneously in years. So here is my rusty muscle:

Have you ever felt a searing pain?
Have you ever felt a searing joy?
Have you ever felt wistful and lonely?
Have you ever felt plain and homely?
Have you ever felt a rightful gladness?
Have you ever felt overwhelming wrongness?
Have you ever felt light and insane?
Have you ever felt thoroughly sane?
Have you ever felt flighty and reckless?
Have you ever felt staid and weightless?
Have you ever felt truly restless?
Have you ever felt a beautiful mess?
Have you ever felt an ugly mess?
Have you ever felt an insatiable lust?
Have you ever felt well and truly bust?
Have you ever felt ridiculously complex?
Have you ever felt a broken reflex?
Have you ever felt, felt, felt             I feel too much?
                                                         I think too much?
                                                         I am too much?
                                                         I shall combust?
                                                         What can contain me?
                                                         Who can contain me?
                                                         Will I be contained?
                                                         Should I be contained?
If I am not, shall I not bleed all over the ground?
If I am, shall I not destroy myself?
Then have you seen yourself in the mirror,
Looked at the sky,
Realized how insignificant you are and
Laughed it off?