Despair

[Lads of E3]

I fumble for a trance,
As the sands waste through my fingers,
While on my cusped mind,
The scent of death still lingers.

The depths of void collide,
With the streams of my confide,
While the strings of life attest,
I pray my arm not rest.

So tell me what to do,
As the earth rolls over crimson,
And the sirens call my fate,
In hope their not too late.

But last few grains declare,
And the walls of my thoughts give way,
As I take blood ripened air,
To the sound of my lung’s despair.

[cogs]

very grim for them. "And the walls of my thoughts give way," is effective at portraying the moment of death. wow, i just thought that the sirens' lights could have sybolized the eternal light right at death. but the ending was so desperate, just like the title.

[Holden C.]

Excellent. I love the way in which you capture the narrator's response to death and effective language you use to enhance this bleak sense of death throughout the poem.

[Lads of E3]

Cheers for the comments guys.

[Ward Stradlater]

I found this poem very enjoyable, especially the way the images concerning the sand illustrate humans constantly fretting about the passing of time, and the irony of which we spend our time worry about the end of our life, not living it itself.