We take diversion when and where we can.
Make the most of every grumpy day.
Grasp thrill and desire with both hands
And, clutching, pray that it won’t slip away.

Drown out stark and sombre reality.
Avoid the harsh and garish light of day.
Then we drift in fog of numbing sea,
Memorialise each empty shade of grey.

And when fickle pleasure drops us hard
Bruised and battered, up we strive to stand
Everything is tainted, mad and marred
Then ‘round again, damaged heart in hand.

 

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Writing 201: Poetry
Assignment — Day 5:

Prompt: Fog
Form: Elegy
Device: Metaphor

Personal note:  Lately I have given much thought to that lifestyle in which one lives in constant pursuit of happiness and self-fulfilment.  I have several dear friends who live for laughs, doing whatever feels good, consequences be damned.  The trouble is they often leave others hurt in their wake.  And they themselves do not come out unscathed.  Quite a morose topic.
This poem is not complete.  It not only needs a good polish, it needs a metaphor.  🙂

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