This is the blight of the mind, arcane and secluded
Any light lucidly obfuscated
The larks of the mind are hoarse and naively misguided,
The trees are all marooned and beleaguered
The larks are at it again, but again nevermore.
I absolutely detest it when Fate is crudely cruel
As if it is competing against itself in its own wry duel
Vengeance is a sanguine sustenance
That will keep in maintenance this coherence of countenance
It is like carnival peanuts are its game and smoldering incense its flame
It fits perfectly into a frame but the frame, ignominiously in frenetic acclaim
Is wandering like the hapless immortals
Eternal yet ephemeral, never able to frisk into their own emanating portals
From It arises a crystal ruby and from the ruby arises an incarnadine It
Picturesque in macabre banana split
All poised and ready
Lurching raw authenticity all unsteady
Insouciant usurpers come and go
Like piercing, shrewd cupcake snow
Saccharine cloying masking the sneering sheets of hail of the mind
My stars, it seems, are peripherally, perenially unaligned
Life for me is but a sickly, jaundiced flower,
So eccentric, ethereal, morbidly esoteric in this lonely Eiffel Tower
Pleasing to look at, but a terrible stupor undertook for those who peer at
“Why are the fields of the mind so harrowed, so roughly plait?”
They whisper trite epigrams that are ostensibly, flamboyantly profundities
“Eyes are the window to the soul,” are enunciated with regard for the liabilities
I wonder what those entail
For haggard eyelids that prevail
On a creased visage weathered with pain
For a obtained chain abstained,
As gossamer as fantastical flights
As bittersweet as sardonic slights
I wonder what it’s like to be a vampire fish
Life as superficially scintillating as a sheeny varnish
I wonder if that means I’ll eventually be a petty garnish
Authentic orb of light irrevocably in extinguish
In lavish outpourings is outlandish garish…
I wonder what it’s like to dream real-life dreams
Dreams that never swims away in acute streams
This is the crystal of the mind,
Unbind: combined, confined finally inclined
There is something about voices
That eludes me in blistering blazes
Lucidly blank hazes
“Hello, adieu, dear world.”
It is both my birth and death I herald,
It’s as if overdosing on Huxley’s soma was a keenly-honed harbinger
Was a vestige, a piece of bittersweet ginger
Sometimes I wonder
Who’s there over yonder
Somewhat, vaguely, manifestly, familiarly
Is it a curse?
For clear coherency dispersed
For rationale to leave my sight
Elusive even in the night of bright daylight
Why comply, signify, justify a nightmare nigh
Intensify a faint outcry in some inconspicuous field of rye,
What you do
Shallow voices droll on
I espy the spawn of a dreary nighttime dawn
Taking the Moon for an erring Sun
Yet never shunned, stunned, ended the latest Begun
Why is it that I hear cavorting mockingbirds jest?
Why is it that the languid larks sneer at me?
Why is it that I see Night only?
Why is it that I taste bitter smells?
Why is it that I smell acerbic feelings?
Why, why, why is it only me?
Yea, indeed, while Life may choose to maroon Me, I will never maroon it.
About the Author: Erin Yoo is a sophomore (15 years old) at Lowndes High School in Georgia. Her work has been recognized by several prestigious awards, including the Scholastic Arts & Writing Awards, Young Georgia Authors Writing Competition, the Illustrated Poem Contest in the Southwest Georgia Section of the American Chemistry Society (ACS), Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Essay & Poetry Program, and the Essays on Technology Event organized by the Technology Student Association (TSA) State Conference. Erin's recent poems have been published in Teen Ink Magazine. She serves as a Junior Board Member and Senior Editor at the Polyphony Lit Magazine and also serves on the Writing/Editing Team in The Scientific Teen Magazine.