Impaled
and again it stabs, a flickering flash
like Macbeth’s floating dagger:
invisible, hallucination, a silent pain.
Like a nettle, a rose’s thorn,
it twists and curdles into rotten barbed wire.
It rests in your pockets
sits in your palm,
it vibrates on our tables
and jolts us from an already fitful sleep.
Influencing ones and zeros
flood over bodies and seep into conversations,
ooze across self-worth and cover mirrors -
slow and unnoticed, impaling a society turned statue
by an intangibly weighted media.
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
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
