Crisis Point
Days melt and crust over. These school hours yawn
so that dreams cascade softly, stretching out
over knowledge - they almost allow me
to forget. But fanfare cannot smother
drum - this pressing, pounding, paralytic
reminder of where I am and what I've
done. Lost corpses always seem to surface
and stink up pristine seaside getaways.
Struggle to contain myself. Flush rivers
Smuggle magnesium flesh memories;
I am a beaver with a crooked grin.
I craved lightheaded sixth birthday parties;
A fine helium asylum. But now
Red, dripping wax ossifies in my hand:
In it I see all possibility -
This blood-drenched carbon and this soul aflame.
Yet in this twilight of my youth, the moon
Wanes before I can catch it and tides ebb
Ere I can finally submerge myself
With certainty. Daylight threatens, pin sharp.
Jagged futures scatter. I cut my feet
On fragments, unsuspecting of my fate.
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Author guidance for This poem
Possible option for my creative writing folio for English, so not here permanently. Critiques would be helpful! POEM TAGS
THE GOODS
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Crisis Point, which
was posted on Sep 22, 2011 by
Miserabilia.
This is a solo poem.
About this poem
"Possible option for my creative writing folio for English, so not here permanent..."
This poem is filed under:
Imagery, Religion / Spirituality
This poem belongs to 1 group:
Critiques Wanted
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