Survivor
Words hang from rafters in cobwebs of silence
The candle flickers on a window sill in pain
Locks with no keys stare into closed chapters
The poet’s unhinged mind holds its threshold
Floor boards creak without pace like a ghost
Out of step a lonely sandal slips into motion
As slumber refuses to claim yesterday’s dreams
The clean sheet of insomnia stares into nothing
Reaps restlessness where slumber should reign
A script of smudged ink and unfinished business
Dances under the weight of dried tarnished ink
He counts sheep into flocks of thunderous clouds
All of them black howling at a camouflaged wolf
A bloody pelt seems hung and quartered at night
Scraps of thoughts tease the bleary eyed writer
His resolve is crushed under cover in discomfort
The crumpled feather pillow protests the squeeze
Merely suspends for a moment tar oozing out
Onto a slope passed so often it cannot keep track
Of meaningless journeys for no particular purpose
Direction leads straight to the pointless lack of return
Wide awake and yet tired he removes the blindfold
Unplugs his ears and touches the relentless void
And yet he hears only a crescendo of white noise
Has visions of tombstones veiled in ivy and scorn
Presses the surface of an underworld of confusion
Tears skin and recollects scars and wounded remains
I am no one but who I am and have failed to become
At last the inkster finds relief in an illusion of sleep
Engages in nightmares and apocalyptic resurrection
Grasps a few hallucinations and deluded images that
Give him some resemblance of control over chaos
Becomes his own metaphor and pictures escape
Hopes that the one way street is not a dead end
Loses himself for better or worse and begins to write ...
Copyright © Kai Michael Neumann | Year Posted 2020
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