Octopus · The Art of Poetry

Octopus

I can’t keep up with this octopus of myself

The parishioners hemming and hawing

As I try to wield eight arms full of burden, of

Groceries, of love and sadness

But they just see me clawing

The sacrifice for having so much to hold

But you can never really grab it

My tentacles have been tailored specifically for

Taking hit after hit, not the good kind

So the purposes of my pain exposes

A wagering sort of mind, out of habit

Moon is dire, blotted out, beyond this hazy June frame

And the trouble is the darkness,

She always calls my name

2 comments

Octopus

skool.com/the-art-of-poetry-1080

Become a published author. Join a thriving poetry community featuring cash contests, anthologies, feedback, and support.

Suggested communities

Build your own community

Bring people together around your passion and get paid.