In To The Helm Of Naught

I feel the winds of change blowing on my face
Surly-ridden in cahoot with the green envy
Turning me grey inside like a living coffin
Entrapped in this faux mirth of sweet surrender
Catapulting to the vices which subjugate the soul
Throwing it to the ignominious abyss to putrefy
To nothingness transfiguring into a play thing
For the world to witness your fall from heights
Of success and a driven life;I sit around and watch
My soul wither like a rose gnarled and wrinkled
And look upon hope as a distant star for the chosen few.

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