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Sarah Wheeler Poem
I used to write like
Jack Kerouac.
Words
crumbling down
paper.
Stark thoughts
marked
by dots
and dashes.
Flashes of schoolyard brilliance
The hill I would
climb over
to be
someone different.
I never saw life
through a dot.
LSD.
My father
was on mushrooms,
when he and my mother
created me.
Psychedelic sperm
meets
bitter weed
infested ovum.
BANGED
into existence.
Transient spirit
sloughing off
afterbirth long
after I hit
the cold.
I have chased
paper
ever since.
Dipping my bones
in ink.
To paint a
masterpiece
of you.
Broken, homeless, loveless,
privileged, safe, warm,
sheltered, shattered
reconstructed.
All in a backdrop
of perfection.
An abundant Earth
housing an
ungrateful patient.
Most of us,
doctored
unconscious
sedated.
Waiting for
something
to wake us
up.
My own words
often
broken and
falling off.
Leaving only
snapshots.
I get ties and
sketches
along the
road.
I would bargain
my dreams
for pious acceptance
and my revelations
for wicked
indulgent
self
flagellation.
I have been
bound to my
vision
of exclusion
behind an
iron fence of
history.
Trapped
in pages.
Tapped and
wasted.
I used to write
as if I didn't
I would die.
On my knees
shattered
under
that perfect
silent sky.
Head bowed
shoulders cowed
frail and pasty.
Screaming
raging
breaking pages
with my pen.
Attempting to bring
black and white
to color.
Now I write,
because
I die.
A thousand times
with you.
Its glorious!
Over your
unfinished portraits.
Your shortcuts
your detours
your ache
your lust,
and your mindless
wandering.
Beautiful
and championed.
I pray to make
my prose like
a Sistine Chapel
after all,
you deserve
it!
Only to fall
very far from
grace.
At the
Inadequacy
I have
at coloring
your face.
I used to write
like Jack Kerouac,
jotting a shot
of you
in between
heaven.
But I figured out
that I would
rather capture
my own
splinter.
And be satisfied with
a sliver of you,
than die like him
at forty-seven.
Copyright © Sarah Wheeler | Year Posted 2015
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Details |
Sarah Wheeler Poem
Keep the Lamps Burning
(Mathew 25:1-13)
Where will you be when I come back?
Oh! Where will I find you then?
What kind of time have you been spending?
Are you ready to see me again?
When the millennia’s have
Burned through the decades
And the years have tasted the day
When the hours have burned through the minutes
In what state will I find you that day?
When I come through your door,
Will I find you kneeling, praying?
Will I walk in and find you asleep?
Will you be zoned out on Netflix?
High on dope or smoking some weed?
Will you be tucking your kids in at bed time?
And teaching them just how to pray?
Will you be screaming at then because they failed you?
Or will you be teaching them all of my ways?
Will you be throwing dishes at your husband?
Or silently avoiding your wife?
Will you be tweeting or scrolling on Facebook?
Or will you be saving a life?
Will you be holding some ones who crying?
Wiping away somebody’s tears?
Will you be feeding those who are starving?
Or will you be frozen in fear?
Will I find you alone in bed crying?
Believing I would never return?
Will you be raging at me with your lips closed?
Or will you be filing the lamp with oil to burn?
Have you forgotten the first time I Loved you?
Have you pulled away from me so far?
That all the roads I gave you to travel,
Took you that from my heart?
I gave you all that I have because I love you!
My heart, my mind, my blood!
I told you I would never forsake you,
I trusted that you understood!
All your deepest secrets and your sweetest dreams
Your tears, I have counted them each!
And I held you in the darkest pain,
Oh! My child I have loved you so deep!
I gave you all of my knowledge
I taught you all of my ways
You had but to call on me!
And Love me all of these days!
For, I am looking now all over the Globe
Preparing to come to your door!
And how will I find you waiting?
As in Love as you were before?
My Father is ordering the Trumpets be cleaned
The Mighty Angels are getting in line
The Horses hooves are stomping
You must stop wasting time!
I am coming for my Bride!
Oh! How will I find you waiting?
With each precious moment flitting away?
Please keep the lamps burning brightly,
Oh! How I long to find you that way!
Copyright © Sarah Wheeler | Year Posted 2015
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