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David Ferguson Poem
As black birds, bad luck shadows us,
For we have many personas like trickster
Or ill-omened out caster, cast away
No matter how our broken speech sounds.
Our mere presence spark uncomfortable discourse.
How many chances can they take with our lives?
I’m cursed, within this unnoticeable room,
Where my only odds are fight or flight.
Except, my wings have been clipped, so it’s pointless.
Still, I’m dubbed as the freedom fighter,
And yet, I remain locked in a steel cage.
My sanity splits into delirium.
Fear burrow ever deeper into my fragile soul.
Anger begins to throb inside my once gentle heart,
When the sadness starts clawing at the darkened pupils.
All the while, the hunger instills its own painful symptom.
So, I peck, I claw, I snap at the lock,
While screeching the dialect, everyone forgot.
As one of them, I am voiceless.
A handful of grain is tossed in, with little care.
Above, the water rains down from the silver jug.
This occurred, till one hand unlocked it.
I struck her— blood had trickled down.
I clawed— I struggled for the sweet scent of freedom.
I hopped—I hopped from that oppressing cage.
Willingly, I followed her out of the devil’s domain…
Never to return.
Copyright © David Ferguson | Year Posted 2017
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Details |
David Ferguson Poem
It lies slumbering, deep in the crevasses.
Here in the perfect four of a kind family.
His flames engorge wildly within,
And so, unshaven, unclean, unruly, so strange.
This is a mind of many—not one.
The cracks sink deeper—ever expanding its grip.
All his sense of reasoning—flushed out
And so, the derangement of the beast is set loose.
It will haunt the futures of all who witness
The onset of the creature that only consumes.
All secure parental barriers shatter—utterly
Knowing it will never be capable, to hold itself back
From delving into the great seven sins
Like the devil’s fury, which burns all.
Unfortunately, all that would follow—the full effect
Would not be fully understood…
Till years later.
Copyright © David Ferguson | Year Posted 2017
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Details |
David Ferguson Poem
The first-born birth is celebrated.
Henceforth the father’s flame is ignited,
While mother’s strings are deeply implanted.
Father’s smoke leeches the air from his own child,
For he is born with no breath,
Thus, thrown into the breathing box for a time.
To put it simply, he was born to survive.
After a bout with the devil’s insanity,
The social service summoned their authority
To take the child—stolen in the mental’s eyes,
Though witnesses would say otherwise.
Despite them portraying the flawless family mirror,
Within which, the SS saw through the tiny dysfunctional crack.
Since then, 5 years passed with their 2nd chance,
Where mother won the right to raise.
Seemingly, returning to the original state, being praised,
Yet within this victory— something festered, unawares,
For soon another event will bring its hammer down,
Causing the irreparable blight of this utopian family.
This union will deteriorate into dust,
Fragmenting into all that is null and void
Filled with the stripes of flame from the ache
Of delirium of hollow security and belonging.
His world, now struck with thunder.
Fear emerged out of this lone survivor.
The Hellish demons will be unleashed
Copyright © David Ferguson | Year Posted 2017
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