I wanted to write a poem that encapsulated the struggles of writers without directly alluding it to their actual titles.
O who shall me deliver whole
From bonds of this tyrannic soul?
Which, stretch’d upright, impales me so
That mine own precipice I go;
And warms and moves this needless frame,
(A fever could but do the same)
And, wanting where its spite to try,
Has made me live to let me die.
A body that could never rest,
Since this ill spirit it possest …
Reading this during my poetry class JUST WOKE ME UP
Fucking gorgeous
WOOO YEAH VEONDRE POETRY DROPPED
O who shall me deliver whole
From bonds of this tyrannic soul?
Which, stretch’d upright, impales me so
That mine own precipice I go;
And warms and moves this needless frame,
(A fever could but do the same)
And, wanting where its spite to try,
Has made me live to let me die.
A body that could never rest,
Since this ill spirit it possest …
Reading this during my poetry class JUST WOKE ME UP
Fucking gorgeous
WOOO YEAH VEONDRE POETRY DROPPED