Posted in Of Writingly

Under Pressure

Year is to end
Time to make amend.
My delays I must defend
With fear; I always pretend.

Under Pressure
Open to censure
For every taken pleasure
Misstepping on all given measure.

But, measures will be completed
When pressure is defeated.
All responsibilities be meted
When all ego is depleted.

For, that is the key
To sadness and jealousy.
The self tries too painstakingly
To please all, albeit unsatisfactorily.

Till then, make do with uneaseful poetry
Before the holy night falls silently.
Treat my mistakes gently
Be kind to them, till the Eve.


Writer, Blogger, Kate Bush Fanatic

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