Poem -
Pristine
This pristine prison of
mine is the ruin
of an ancient dream I
once had.
Now I
can't escape this escathology
and I have to choke all
the chunks of my enchantment
while
my chest cherishes thorns.
There is nothing left I
can do.
No poetical I
I am that alluring
wrecked pathetic
unredeemable
I.
I am
the wound.
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Comments
Death, the destiny of humanity, the Second Coming, or the Last Judgment...it's all speculative at this point, Beatrice.
In other words, no one knows the exact time frame in which these events will take place.
We're not meant to.
There's some good use of alliteration scattered throughout this piece. âpristine poisonâ as well as  âchest charishesâ are two very good examples.
Well written!
~Dean Kuch
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