Apr 10, 2011

State of the Poem

A Dark, Feathered Dream

Fear preys upon one's mind like ravens upon a corpse.
They split their tongues on minor points and bleed their heartless truth.
The road kill of our best efforts is but an appetizer
For them to pick at, rip apart and feed their gluttony.

Sunlight is not enough to send these scavengers away.
They strut and boast of their right to destroy our last true hopes.
These inner critics split our infinite wisdom like so much kindling to
Feed the burning fire of self loathing and despair.

Rain will not chase these purificators from their worst efforts.
They sweep the floor of our collapse for morsels of our failures.
Lying, gasping, praying; for a miracle to survive,
We would sell our sanity to let the light pervade our thoughts.

Blighted hopes reign upon the throne of mindless repetition.
Our addiction to spewing forth our words bubbles forth to their delight.
We fight to quote our own macabre dance to win the cup of acceptance.
Saving our outer selves no matter how tenuous our grip on reality.

But darkness needs the light to make itself better known,
If naught but for the way to see the feeding of the flock.
A gasp, awake, the pencil there, a scribble in the night, then
Back to dreaming of the fears that run through a restless mind.

No comments: