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Zoie Cooper Poem
The inexorable gnawing felt like fire against paper forever burning in hell. These malignant white walls surround me like a cage, and without a window my prison is darkness. To impugn the people who left me here would be genocide, and my heart runs cold at the thought. The screams of the children are inane there is no point, no way out. I am forever naked and lonely in my innocuous prison. I pray everyday to become less irascible, but my temper prevails. The gnawing and the screaming never stop my hell is forever burning. THe mellifluous stench that clings to life intoxicates me with its willingness to stay. To languish is to survive in my prison and to fight is to run. There is no point in running because the road never ends. There is no way out of my prison. Intractable and distant is eternity ever winding in and out of my prison, never taking me away. In the dark the leering stares of thousands keep you from sleeping for fear you may wake up. My prison latent of burning makes me forever shiver. My impotent prayers never go farther than the white walls crowding me with their neediness. This is my prison forever burning.
Copyright © Zoie Cooper | Year Posted 2012
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Details |
Zoie Cooper Poem
The wheels turn round and the window pane shines with the aesthetic light of the great divine. The street is filled with people too important to notice the infant crying alone, wedged against the wall. The worlds allusion to sorrow brings a grimace to my face. Alone I walk through the dirty street unable to alleviate the gnawing I feel inside. THe youth lack colour in their eyes, they have only the abstruse gray that surrounds this city. THe emerald lawn is dimmed from the adamant persistence of the scarred. THe ambience of the sun cannot be felt through the shell of ignorance surrounding humanity. Broken shardsof earth rain down on us to ameliorate the past. To absolve the sins of the unfaithful we must stop the progression of the shadows in our hearts. The reflection of our hearts remain etched into the banks of the river... never allowed to cross for fear of rejection. Sunflowers petals litter the sky as the sun shudders from the abysmal frost that has settled over the earth. Drugs abridge the need for forgiveness in the minds of the addicted. The silver bell atones for the drawn faces of the anxious as the acerbic voices of the dead are drowned out by the ceremonial binding of souls.... Roses wilt as the harmonic ambiguous mind seeks the end.
Copyright © Zoie Cooper | Year Posted 2012
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