Email Poem

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Poem

For much of my life I have been portraying
this seamless shell built just for displaying
to a world so intent on miming their play,
that reality’s bored, not wishing to stay,
and I don’t understand why it’s delaying
when all it can taste is a race dismaying.

Perhaps there is hope buried deep in dismay
waiting its chance to bloom and portray,
but with passing moments more it’s delayed
‘cos we are not fit to see it displayed,
and we do not stop and beg it to stay;
with sky tied eyes we drown in our play.

Like a junkie on crack with death we are playing,
waiting for the low, withdrawal, the dismaying
and nothing we do will keep us from staying
on this macadam of madness. This shadow portraying
depths of corruption, a negative display,
where tomorrow is something we wish to delay.

Now my cocoon is in shatters, apathy delayed
and all of my excuses have already been played.
I stand here soul baring, completely displayed
to the reproach of my maker, his total dismay
and no matter the remorse my prayers portray
his back is my answer as he refuses to stay,

so where do I rest, where shall I stay,
when heaven is a place trapped by delay,
and all that I was, in my memory portrayed
is celluloid guilt, constantly played.
A mirror of conscience, of echoed dismay
here on this stage of public display,

and now that my soul has been displayed
and the sentence of truth cannot be stayed.
It’s too late to wallow in self-pity's dismay.
To rebuild what was there can be no delay
and if I should falter, be tempted to play,
I know he is watching this persona portrayed.

An end to displaying what has been delaying,
the thought of me staying in the game we are playing.
To cease this dismay is what I wish to portray.

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