Poetry Drafts

My own sorrow, the reflected echo
Of a rusty spade beside the hole 
I kept digging, never called forth 
The rain; never left any hope of ever
Finding a door, an escape out into
The world of normal, into your world
Where A follows B and the light
Only comes on when buttons
Are pressed; dangling from above 
The hole is not a hole, I could not
Call the spade a spade, the light 
Is off and there are no buttons 
To press, the whole alphabet 
Is merrily dancing around a tree 
Except A follows E, and there are
No tears to shed.

A thin slice of life 
Covered in whipped cream,
A silver spoon searching 
For sponge finds only cream,
Cream,
Strawberry jam, 
And hard-whipped
Cream. 

A thin slice of life
Whitewashed as the walls,
Right hands reaching for bread
To dip and divide among the dead. 

A thin slice of life
Partitioned.

Lives – severely severed.

Intemperate the soul that walks 
Your skin along meridians blocked,
Along the remnants of a stagnant
Life once lived;
Eager the infant child to walk anew
The same paths unforgotten;
Intemperate the souls that roam
The eternal roads, in search of 
Other victims, of other beasts
To tame;
Eager infant children walk anew
The dusty roads never ending.

I sing my songs as muffled truths,
As knitted comforts in her presence;
With her nails like icicles beneath a 
Shadow moon, I sing my sad songs
Alone by a fire long expired:
Like a hell that never came to be, 
Yet a hell continuously begging: 
Unleash me with your fire eye,
Thaw this frozen hell; but I sing
My songs through knitted socks,
I keep the aching feet frozen
As I sing my final hymn in joy;
Never again to ponder incineration,
Never more becoming less than 
What I was sent here to be: free.

Snakes in the womb, in the forge
Of life; cold – abandoned it answers 
No questions, no arguments sold
Of right or wrong, of pride or fall. 
Worms in the wound, grim the pace
Of life; warm – pulsating, festering 
Questions and flawed arguments:
We are masked, betrayed, tools
Of a master race; No! Merely tinsel 
Shuddering in a cold winter wind,
Finding purposeless dreams 
Along the way to meaning.