Beauty Dejected
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
His face is sad and wonked today, his work
As heavy as a weighted wing that will
Remain a broken crash. He cannot shirk
The crush of tasks, and so his cheeks will spill
Exhaustion through his whiskers, spill them down
And outward from his tired and unshaved face.
His life is fretting like a frown.
It drags left eyelids downward like disgrace.
Disconsolate becomes his swallowed song.
Notes sink down silently inside his chest
Behind its hairs and ribs, become a throng
Of angels cast from skies, each Satan’s guest.
Youth shakes himself and rises from Hell’s floor.
He pushes on success’s iron door.
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