A marionette to the mind,
Whispering fading schematics,
Deluging the heart and soul, in a
Juxtaposition of good and evil,
Betwixt Heaven and hell, amidst
Snowdrifts that swirl before my eyes, while
Spiritless shadows restlessly carouse;
Discordantly, far from reach,
Vagrantly ambling across
Deadened Arcadias, glimpsing
Floating embers, in wake of
Vivid firestorms, swallowing me whole,
Faltering with every step I take,
Decelerating towards the escape I seek,
As it rhythmically scars my timorous nature,
Awakening the monsters hidden deep within-seeing red-
Bleeding out miasmic toxins, as noxious
Spores erupt, immersed in a haze of austerity,
While it seeps and saturates, throughout
Malignant wounds exposed, undulating between
The storms of push and pull, as daunting
Tasks, of rippling sequences, splits my
Chasmic core.
Soulless footprints are all that remain, as
Moon tides wash ashore, ebbing away
Towards dystopian depths.
Stone stubborn, strictly stuck until struck.
Then mined like gushing gold, loquacious litter.
From hills and dales, from stillness and storm,
fickle muse must be courted and coaxed.
Trickle muse must be taunted and teased.
Tickle fuse must be ignited and conceived.
There are times when she goes undetected,
times when she is neglected,
and times when I hunt her formless hint.
In such moments, I can be a child with my first kite.
In such moments, I can be fragile fall leaves cascading
as their summer luster is fading,
as the fall perennials are persuading.
There are times when I recoil from her caustic truths,
times when her torment lays bare my splinters,
my shivering fractured ruin.
There are times when she pounces and denounces.
Yet, I go on seeking.
Perhaps her rich occasional flavors entice.
Perhaps her chasmic insights steady me.
Why, then, must she hide under shadowy veil?
Why must I prospect for her timid topaz?
Fickle muse,
Perhaps she is just gaming me.
Or perhaps she knows the travail of endless
trials necessary for my emergence.
A SENSE OF EMPTINESS
Empty I feel inside,
No emotions left within since you died,
A black blankness that drains
a hollow heart remains.
Shackled to chasmic chains,
Leftover is a shallow shadow, wide..
A null void consumes me,
Sensations have been sucked out, all thoughts flee,
Nothing lingers behind,
Not a word in my mind.
Stark vacuum I find,
A zilch devoid of tender tendency..
A vacancy that tugs
these numb heartstrings, as unfeeling soul chugs.
This life slowly goes on,
But you are dead and gone.
Alone and woebegone,
I struggle with silent shivers and shrugs..
In this vague state, I choke,
Ah! To join you! I await death's one stroke!
To you, my dry tears plead,
In grave's abyss, I bleed,
You're free. I'm not yet freed.
Nothingness envelopes me like a cloak.
01.09.18
Contest: Rhyme me a poem
Sponsor: Broken Wings
My arm is a shooting gallery,
a roadmap of Switzerland in
needlepoint decked grey flesh;
running out of targets fast -
and I need something for my mind.
Haunting rainy streets, opium deprived,
with crusted yellow-black scabs between my toes,
hyper-tolerant to antibiotic therapy,
the infection spreads its wings and grows -
and I need something for my mind.
Scouring Freddy Krueger's domain
for a friend, the man, a score;
convulsed and cold, shuddered with
rhinorhea and no tissues -
and I need something for my mind.
Chasmic yawn, my jaw may dislocate,
chattery teeth spear enamel through my tongue;
a fixer in a fix needing fixing;
damn you, Keith -
and I need something for my mind.
Where's the glamour, immaculately wasted street cred?
Ribs accuse through T-shirt skin;
bones and tendons slither clearly
through almost translucent hands -
and I need something for my mind.
Melt me a candy bar drain cleaner cocktail;
shook with an aftershave chaser;
anything to make me feel better than this;
for better, for worse, maybe death is the trip -
and I need something...anything, really anything
for my mindless, mindless mind.