STW ( / 52° 27' N / 9° 41' E)

That Infirm Institution

Your multitude of desolate platitudes
Leave me inconsolably destitute;
Resigned to prostitute and pollute
Beliefs before held resolute
So that I’ll not refute
That which you salute
As love

by Sailing to windward

Comments (2)

This poem recalls to me what I wrote to my wife long ago: 'Words seem of so little use when the feeling I have for you is real. / 'Love' is a poem I would have written if I had not met and married you.' Your poem effectively uses word sounds to enforce meaning and content. Another great job.
Interesting and well-penned paradox here, and one to which I think many will relate. t x