Gently Rocked by Iron Clouds
Rainstorms in my head,
thunder crashing against my eyes,
blizzards of primal sounds, a boundless chaos
under each closed eyelid.
Between death and life, peace and strife,
I will sleep upon a cliff edge of self -
as a curled kitten in the palm of a caretaker,
or a dreaming child within an iron skull
of extinction or survival,
I shall wait upon oblivion
as patient as any whittled stone
carved by every ancient wave of time.
There, shorn of identity,
surrender to one last apocalyptic tempest,
resting now as a silent voice
within its tumultuous cradle.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment