Stranger In a Strange Land
Now life spurns me,
granite and absolute;
flinches at my touch,
hardens visibly at my voice,
morphed to dry-ice opiate in my presence.
Avoidance of the plague,
ducks and dives prizefighterly,
evasive bob and weave, skirting contact,
lest it's fabric may somehow
contaminate.
Spoken words,
when life stoops to speak them,
are naked critiques, each
phrase select paradigms of
contempt.
Didn't life love me once?
Didn't the feeblest jest elicit laughter?
It held my hand so tightly in
erotic pleated lap;
kissed me full on the lips;
whispered it wanted me,
my paramour.
Didn't it?
Emotional plates somehow shifted gravity,
heart aligned a different axis;
looking back at
only the bad;
grudges swollen, the
ink sacs of poisonous squids,
arcane black injections of hateful
disdain.
I am but a stranger
in the strange land of the heart;
an alien orphan
umbilical to a
memory;
stranger in the
world.
I drown at leisure in quagmires of
anguished tears and muted screams;
defencelessly, with only my selfishness,
nothing more than a
dream in the head of
a dying
man.
My feigned indifference, the winch
dragging forth the
dying day...
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005
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