Paula M. Puddephatt
The ravens in my mind are dying.
The people in my world are lying.
Nothing's for real - but scarlet on steel.
I'll endure the pain, until I can feel
nothing more -
just my broken body, on a cold, concrete floor.
I will escape - some day, somehow.
Yet, all my heart knows is the here and now -
and how much it hurts -
how nothing converts
into usable currency,
and this world has no place for me - not currently,
It's coming together:
the too obvious fact that I need a solution,
an end to it all.
Paula M. Puddephatt's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Conclusion by Paula M. Puddephatt )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
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