Wishing
a Prison
Nothingness burns in a forsaken circle
around me.
Close to the edge, I carefully walk toward an exit and halt a
moment,
not knowing where I am going, starkly
gazing at the empty sky and
what is waiting at the next turn of fate.
Compelled to rearrange objects, thoughts,
meaning,
hopeful it will hide the mess that has been
made, that has become our lives.
Hot and tired, salty sweat drips to my lips,
the pain burns, yellow, searing.
A meager voice imploring to be released
from loneliness and hollow doubt.
Interruptions in the dark and empty night
of silent waiting and wanting,
words building a bridge to nowhere.
Bridges suspended in air, high and proud, white
and wandering,
worthless and haranguing.
Wishing away the days and time,
tempted by everything, anything that may
shatter the spell
that keeps me stubbornly trying to make a life
of stale uncertainty.
Mute in a prison made of wishes.
Following is the draft that I revised for the above poem
Interruptions
Yellowed,
searing,
hot and tired.
Fed up with
you and the
mess
and trying to
clean it up.
Trying to make
a life of your trite problems.
Of
nothingness, of not knowing.
Weary of
struggling to fulfill your requests, answer your questions.
Worn out from
watching your t.v. shows, listening to your
interruptions.
All the while
explaining myself, justifying, asking,
imploring.
Stuffing it
all back down
so I won't be
disappointed with your response.
Wondering when
it will end, betting that I can be strong and take it and
come out on
top unaffected.
No comments:
Post a Comment