29
The everyday sleeper remembers not
Shallow dreams sold and bought
But subliminal stress the dreamer’s fraught
Horrid ghosts that all forgot.
The door is open but you are locked
In a dusty cabin where shelves are stocked
With unused provisions unusually docked
Behind the can goods walls are pocked.
Often find my fantast journey here
In run down houses abused and seared
With falling floorboards and multiple tiers
Decaying dwelling hounding my fears.
Emotion/Fear
I confess. I have come
to reckon death, as royalty.
To perish is to live. I
have learned to die freely.
Somewhere within a trance,
I came face to face with love.
She has devastated me unto life:
life became poetry, my balance.
Torpor, mother of anguish,
Have I graduated? Or am I
but a fantast—conquered by
a dream? Or am I tainted?
I drift. Lady Professor, winsome,
vibrant, so alive, I have touched
thee in spirit; but I suffer; for
desire, hath remained untouched.
My senses are whet; but I have
learned to suffer; I have learned
to do without. Rancor I have
not: within my desert storm.
I am burning aflame: thoughts
of lust. I am a sybarite: the last to
trust. I have become ambivalent.
I am no more than philosophy.
Cry upon God for me! Pray that
my wistful soul breaks free. Cry
upon God for me! Pray that God
beaks me free; for I am burning.
I am a building aflame; freefalling
into a sea of pain; but Cleopatra
is near, rejuvenation, unto tears.
I will again breathe; despite my fears.
Glenn Jr. Marchand
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