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Sejotas Due Poem
I slog my worn-out feet
from side to side
picking up dead cigarettes,
through city sidewalks
while I wait for a release.
Like the silhouette
of things to come,
cigarettes,
like a corpse in a mortuary,
lie stomped on
kissed by the lips of
others, addicts
like me.
My tired eyes, in search
of sustenance to feed
my withdrawals,
follow the misery
soaked into
the sidewalk cracks
and into the graffiti walls
of the darkened alley streets.
Aspirin or Tylenol
can’t relieve
the throbbing hammers
pounding away.
In my head, only
the moment
when my hunger is fed,
will my affliction,
for a split second
be released.
Can you feel it?
It’s orgasmic, euphoric…
I need it,
I want it
the rush
as fast as it surges,
is as fast as it’s gone.
I live by it, for it’s
my muse that lets me free.
All knots that strangle me, unravel.
It’s only for a minute of peace
and by now it’s obvious to everyone,
my eyes hide no secrets.
"we’re fine," they whisper,
"we’re great together," they mumble.
I slog my worn-out feet
from side to side
through city sidewalks
picking up dead cigarettes,
'til it's time for my next release.
Copyright © Sejotas Due | Year Posted 2016
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Sejotas Due Poem
A needle: a small, thin object
with a sharp point that mends
our open wounds.
Sewing needles are polished
and used by seamstresses
to keep our clothes
stitched and tailored.
Acupuncture needles,
a traditional remedy believed
to heal the body and mind.
Fresh scented pine trees
bow through summer and winter,
fall and spring.
These needles are survivors,
they never sleep.
But, the needle you preferred
produces only
unanswered questions,
tears and disarray.
When the needle
punctured your skin,
its venom sprinted
through your bloodstream,
freeing your endorphins
in a dance inside your brain.
Your body rattled, eyes twisted,
you descended into
a self-constructed euphoria.
You settled in dwellings
the needle provided,
dishonest, dead and rheumy eyed
as you chased your magical dragon
to ease that unfathomable pain,
time slipped by you
and like a crook in black,
life faded away.
A boy of six or seven,
asleep on a ruined mattress,
in a home abandoned.
A son; your blood and kin.
His eyes flutter open,
to see you at rest on a chair
beside the window frame,
No clouds or shine,
no moon nor stars;
no emotion, no hesitation;
Only you, his protector,
thrusting
that needle into your
vein.
Copyright © Sejotas Due | Year Posted 2016
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Details |
Sejotas Due Poem
The black oak is faded
by the continuous skating of drinks:
mugs, snifters, goblets and pint glasses.
They remain stationary in formation,
anticipating the next pair of thirsty lips to arrive.
With every drop that pours
in the glass, reality is put to rest,
existing predicaments
and emotions are directed elsewhere.
A fatigued being sits across from me,
with a comparable physique to mine.
He comes at the same time as I.
I see him day-to-day,
like a shadow, from sun to moon.
I never see him depart; but
he is always in my view.
In his hand, a glass dripping in its sweat.
As he clasps it securely, like a wrench,
he devours his poison
and without a spoken word;
he is detached from this world.
When I catch a glimpse into
his disoriented eyes, I see contempt.
But, a smirk rests delicately on his weary face,
as if he knows who I am, and the reason why
I pick up this glass each day.
He knew I couldn’t bear to look
at my own reflection.
Copyright © Sejotas Due | Year Posted 2016
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Sejotas Due Poem
I recognize many faces,
But I don’t recognize my own,
I am yet to feel realities pleasures,
but pain is always close to home.
Copyright © Sejotas Due | Year Posted 2016
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