Monday, July 31, 2017


Confiscated, the peace I rely on, to rest the weary being that I am
Tossed to racing pulses of the non-attractive variety
Robbed of the song of night and her trusted lullaby
Stolen by hidden mood swings, burrowed deeply in
Craving the stillness of peace to wreak the maximum dose
Over wreckage that ricochets painfully, purposefully, prominently.

That wide stretch of unknown, luring me into its grandiose niche
Cumulonimbus fingers jabbing me in the neck,
Taunting me in my jackdaw-like deliberation
"...soon, soon," I tell it, "...soon will be the time to inquire within."
But too many years have slipped away since the last promise passed on
Into the motion of winds long rustled and removed

This road I find myself on has splayed open aged dreams;
I have been long away from desert dust and emotive antiquities
That inhabited the cage inside me.
A bony rack of resolute indifference;
Astute to only the practice of existence.

Whose riddles match my own,
Compliant to restraint and responsibility?
And why do I beg the question be asked at this juncture?
Inquisitive weeds have choked enough of my momentum; my mood, my mania.

T'is a torturous web to stick to and rot away on
Inhaling the beefy energies of limbs too far to travel to.
Shifted sleeves of processed countenance, shared in good faith
Stamped in the dutiful fashion of what society has agreed upon
And whisked away to the Eastern side of all I continue to ruminate over.

There are too many dead-ends I have crafted in sincerity
Flushing the blackened carriage to no avail, to  serve to polish the bleak
That has, for far too long- eaten away at my ragged edges.

I wither, I stumble, I absorb the soaking, painful, belligerent truth
I need to bend elbows back this way, into and around my own sense of self-worth
Looking for ways of penetrating that stout and honest willingness to earn,
Into buckets of 'owed'.
Owed to self.
To love,

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