My poetry, my pain!!

Would poetry help to drain the pain
The mockery, which has been made
The divinity that has turned profane
The petals transformed into blade

How far would my writings carry me

Cause reflection never relieves pain
And I am an abode to melancholy
A marble in acid rain

Non-chalantly I have cursed the past
My present is cursing me now
The subtle issues which became so grave
The intricacies of the know how

These hypocrites who broke my trust
Are oblivious to the fact
The bleeding wound and the dust in my eyes
Is still what remains intact

Hillarious it is but painful true
Even my writings have gone vague
The flow has stopped and the pen is dead
What remains is an empty page

The bluffs and poofs which seemed so real
Vanished in thin air
The world seem to have lost conviction
Lost its finesse and flair

My mind saturated and my fingers tired
My eyes now fail to see
The yellow pages and the familiar writings
Of the pain called poetry.

-Kanishka