For me tonight is but a night <br /> of a harlot's miser curse; <br />that I may fight my shameful blight <br /> and test this latent verse. <br /> <br />I do dare a promise bare <br /> not to be absurd. <br />To judge and care (this I swear) <br /> each god forsaken word. <br /> <br />My life has had an ugly spin <br /> (and-time knows how long) , <br />but I'll begin, with humble grin, <br /> to fix all that is wrong. <br /> <br />Confess I may, my thoughts away <br /> to-this silent crook <br />which does dismay, yet still won't say <br /> what faults this freaky book. <br /> <br />My harlot sight cannot fight <br /> the loneliness within. <br />It can only stare (and despair) <br /> at what to me is kin. <br /> <br />No friends I have, no better halves <br /> to confide in everyday; <br />to be a group and have a laugh <br /> about our crazy ways. <br /> <br />No naive distraction, no satisfaction; <br /> all I must dismiss. <br />No sweet abstraction, no reaction, <br /> no life in total bliss. <br /> <br />A dropp the sky wants to hide <br /> will never quench the earth. <br />A man society wants to subside <br /> will never break his girth. <br /> <br />All I have is my lonesome self <br /> and nothing to entrap: <br />a silent bell, a beggar's wealth, <br /> a withering oak-tree's sap. <br /> <br />What is more, I can't ignore <br /> the pain and suffer's sting. <br />A pregnant tart, a wretched whore <br /> deploring her lost spring. <br /> <br />What is left, what comes next <br /> by what-will my life be touched? <br />Will I leave this yonder text <br /> and slither on as such? <br /> <br />Fate will say if to my grave <br /> I carry this painful woe <br />or if like freedom to a slave, <br /> glee to me bestow. <br /> <br />What remains is but a tint <br /> of a flower's maiden bloom. <br />It will ripen and, with a glint, <br /> soothe my poor-heart's gloom.<br /><br />Daniele Pinna<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/confession-9/
