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This Web
| Open Poetry #48 |
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This Web |
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Michael
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-13
Posts 7666California 
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This Web This web, it hold's the shattered pieces Of life I cannot reenact. A book of me, it holds no thesis, But preamble I cannot retract. I trace the interwoven points, Recalling each and every cross. The sum of which slowly anoints Overall perspective with loss. I pull my finger from the substance, But can't shake the foreboding spawned – To see there's no such thing as chance, When chance was the shield I donned 'Cross battlefields of despair, Waging war upon set belief. To arrive here, with palms laid bare, The perfect rendition of grief. And so I swipe, anger rising, Across its surface to destroy The memories compromising This ever unquelled quest for joy. I close my eyes to await sleep – Exhaustion where such feelings ebb, Knowing the price of dream is cheap... But a point in tomorrow's web. Michael Anderson Death's but a path that must be trod, |
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| © Copyright 2013 Michael Anderson - All Rights Reserved | |||
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JerryPat2 Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975South Louisiana |
Oooh . . . That last line knocked the wind out of me, Michael. The rest of the poem was merely a set-up for the coup de grace . . . Great form . . . dreary substance . . . pure Michael Anderson. ~*~ If they give you lined paper, write sideways. ~*~ |
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JL Member Ascendant
since 2004-04-01
Posts 6128Texas, USA |
"And so I swipe, anger rising, Across its surface to destroy The memories compromising This ever unquelled quest for joy." Quest for joy is a good fight! You penned the struggle and entanglement of emotion very well. Enjoyed the read. JL  Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul,and with all your mind. Love your neighbor as yourself. |
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