Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2009

Failure's Drone

by Jack Weller

O'Leech how is it that you drain?
With such inanity from my brain,
No mental ponder nor caprice-
hath space to stroll alone in my own sphere; at least,
i may ne'er forget,
the ire of my one regret
or ineptude at that sole task,
which now engrained as if my last.
Damn-my prancing mind it is your fault,
the prescence of this thwarting tumult,
which with every languid appeal-
for cease grows fiercer consuming remains of the ordeal,
these remains so vulnerable,
owned by the mind of some free fool,
now timid shells of late thoughts roam
my captive skull alone.
No hope to fight against frustration and ths chastice of failures drone.

Added: 20.04.2009