Boatmen ferry us across <br />The river of the dead, <br />The dark stagnant river <br />Where our childhood dreams <br />Struggled and then sank <br />Into the hopeless mire <br />Of defeat. <br /> <br />There are no positive, <br />Sterling thoughts, <br />Only the rusted meditations <br />Of suicide recitations; <br />Ideas of masochistic violence <br />And self-deprecation <br />Mask as inspiration. <br /> <br />When the sun is fading <br />To every possibility of love, <br />When the curtain is being drawn <br />On poetry and creation, <br />When I’ve lost the desire <br />To fuel imagination, <br />Then I can’t escape the razor <br />Of spiritual emasculation.<br /><br />Uriah Hamilton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/spiritual-emasculation/
