Email Poem

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Poem

“Step into my office, young novice
Clear off the tears from your face
Because they’re pointlessly burrowing into orifices
Tuning wounds that will bloom into a fixed gear race
Shift from fifth gear to disgrace
And if you don’t have anything to say about today
Then trust these crooked, red-rimmed and emerald, eaten, eyes:
Tell lies.”

Harbouring fostered promises to decorate the walls of his mind
It’s in this presidential suite where his highest hopes are hanged
On a residential street with six foot of rope in his left hand
With no name, no post code, not a scratch on a map
Just a decade of decadence and a panicked attack on the senses

These walls
Adorned with but not defined by their views
Of the nature, that,
By passing from one room to one room
The effect is a walk back
Through grave, rave, and womb
And this life, flashed before four eyes flickers fragments of favoured tunes
Accompaniments to occasions, partnered to soothe

But if scarred walls in suite thoughts caused this crescendo of crimson
Then it’s the tightest rope that he walks as he walks within them
A single-minded reason is mightier than both sword and pen
Because this form of self-deceiving is a shortcut walked by so many men

As I witnessed in a gallery where the artwork was just a bloodstain
And the only vanity the artists knew was a simple word, almost spelt the same

He sleeps inside a tower reduced to rubble, which he calls Babel 
But in a certain light, in the deep of night, it looks like his reward for staying faithful 
But when it doesn’t, he’ll rent a room, he’ll book the presidential suite
Taking in the views to the intoxicating beats


http://samnicholasharrison.tumblr.com/

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