Rehash

A simple word seems a repeated dirge,
most unfortunate for the effort I painstakingly strived for,
yet this stanza sounds a lot like time and the mass of space,
or perhaps this blurry paragraph rings with an accursed tune,
regurgitated from a desolate failure of the wasted realm of words,
however I go about writing the dammable scorching poem,
this utter nonsense is a pillar awaiting to be asundered into ashes,
even pressing on seems to be a bit of a Sysyphon cycle to hell,
rebounding words of significant meaning to sleeping deaf ears,
for the horrors of yesterday smiles brightly on bitter irony,
knowing my steeled ambitions will never conquor my expectations,
if everything had a beautiful meaning then how does understanding give a raspy gasp,
when I am forced to face the bleak revelation of putting my heart into words,
accepting that my hoarse cries can never be entirely heard,
since I reside in the polished prison of my spirits shell,
away from the voices that try to staple meaning to my forehead,
or am I among those who cannot hear the music of life,
lost in a dead dream of a time when I was once at peace.