Neurosis, My Finest Hour

Will they recall?
In the end when all is done
Will it be worth it?
A masterpiece some say now
Tomorrow just another bit of scribble
By a mad woman who loved to live
Yet lived in obscurity
Will it melt away like icicle tears
On a Demons face?
Or reside securely in your sensitivities like
Mother’s dulcet lullabies?
Silky satin words
Roll from the pen in the wee hours of life
But in those times of query
A poet is most alone
Fixed inside their own ink
Aimless within their own existence