A poem with Symploce, using Anaphora and Epiphora
Beast of burden, am I, who carries this imp on my chest, purring, like an acid trip gone wrong, in sobriety, shivers of anxiety, sending vibrations through my being,
I feel your breath, as a hum, in my body, an itch, as fleas, to beggars, corrupting, with no antibodies, to cure this disease, that breathes through my being,
Beast of burden, am I, who caries this imp, head of a cat, body of a monkey, joints that creak, movement clunky, pale green of ghostly essence, malnourished and sickly,
Like a pickle with hair, matted with feces, limbs of a swine, an aberration of species, face drawn and sunken, hacking and wheezing, pained, as if drunken, on poison, malnourished and sickly,
Beast of burden, am I, who carries this imp, wings of a bat, too weak to fly, with open wounds that seep, putrefying, the voice of babies crying, a thousand souls dying, under duress, and in distress,
O’ why, o’ why, o’ why, do you sit upon my chest – am I, so wicked, to deserve no rest?
Hooves prodding, poking, a weight forever choking, just another soul, am I; under duress, and in distress.
© Darius the Mate
Written for dVerse.
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