There is plaguing gravity…

There is no glamour
In living perched above
The rabid clamour
Of sneering mob,
"Such lunatic,
Chimeric dreamer!"
As you flick
Their dire reamer
Which hums
Trying to reach and drill
Your porous lungs
Of hopeful will
With resignation,
You can't evade
Or lightly jade
A grim sensation
Of loss and futility.
How long the wait
Before it's too late?
There is plaguing gravity
In waiting up.
Often, many a cup
Of poisonous juice
Squeezed of gory bearing,
You must empty till sparing
And redemptive truce
Is finally made
Between your straight faith
And your tortuous fate…

The photo’s source

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