On The Gradual

When dying on the gradual
From smoke and lack of sleep,
There’s many-colored visions and
A tendency to weep

Inside a frozen winter night
Within a summer day,
A habit of vicissitude
Can lead to thoughts astray

And mine are all in tangles now,
With purposes unfocused,
But what comes on the gradual
Is rarely even

Noticed

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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