Entropy

A poem about fickle poets and their muses. Entropy: everything tends to disorder and chaos.

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Public Domain

What to do?
When your muse
Is someone else’s love,
And
Your love is no longer
Your muse?
When life’s sweet corruption tempts,
And duty’s grip holds firm,
Like gravity:
Easy to break,
Impossible to escape.

Tonight, I mourn, a little,
As the asymmetric dream dissipates,
And I cling, sadly,
To its hypnotic residue:
The impression you left
On my soft heart.

An idea quenched,
An orbit lost,
Unpaired, excluded,
Entropic happiness
Decaying with time’s cruel erosion.

James is a pseudonym for a local writer who, after a long hiatus, is exploring poetry again.

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