Hush oh hush
Withering husk

Is there something I am missing
As I try to understand
Every strand of meaning
My endeavour to be circumspect
Appreciate levels of existence
Resistance to prejudice
Enough to form
An opinion
A view on life
The things I must do
To carry on through
But where is the purpose
Am I merely a slave perforce
In the game of life
As I strive to do what is required
Aspire to higher estate or
Perhaps
Other strings to the lyre
Merely to prance toward
The funeral pyre
Seems to me not enough
Bereft of livid husk
Mere bluff
Hush oh hush
Perhaps as the rest of my time
Fades
I will be but a charade
A shade
Of what might be
Could have been
Nay cannot be
Just me
Alone
Here
At home
Soon to be
Nothing
About the Creator
Raymond G. Taylor
Author living in Kent, England. Writer of short stories and poems in a wide range of genres, forms and styles. A non-fiction writer for 40+ years. Subjects include art, history, science, business, law, and the human condition.


Comments (1)
Oh yes, we are all slaves. Life is a scam and a gamble. It's sad, but unfortunately, that's the reality. Loved your poem!