A poem by Alan Whitfield Enough rope given…

Enough rope given…

Hello you !
How are you !
What’s up with you !
It’s always you !

A tough call to make.
In my desperation
a path to take.

Then a hand-made platform of Ice.
Cold and fragile with a façade of nice.

The laughing bubbles burst
The smiling wrath uncurls.
The wrath of a mediocre minus empathetic vacuum

Your dullness aspires as you conceive with liars.
Your eyes burn like fires the shape shifting aspires.
Yourself imposed in the mires still one aspires.
Your only the coy glances aspire your chances.
Your aspiring to that hand-made platform of ice.

I ask myself

Aspiration or Bastardisation

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