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Open Poetry #49
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The Journey
| Open Poetry #49 |
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The Journey |
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Michael
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-13
Posts 7666California 
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The Journey Feet set on porous, shifting sand. Eyes glowing hot, the devil’s brand Swirls in hand, but soul grows meek, And so he turns the other cheek. The rectitude of quiet creeps, All while the rest of the town sleeps, If dimly, through the dripping gauze Of a world the night holds in pause. It’s there, in sanctioned bliss she lies, A terror trail through the skies… While looks hero, blindly above, Undaunted in his quest for love. I’ve seen it time and time again, The plight of those who never win. Unsung, standing still at the gate, Content with forever to wait. Yet not this one, he held it all. But oh how far the mighty fall. Crystal balls of madness foretell Eternities spent crossing hell. The Gods can’t help laugh, looking down, For Misery’s king bears no crown, Yet demands that his voice be heard, Though all utterance falls obscured… While demons dance the Starling gate— Push him toward his preordained fate, He finally sees those crooked dice Too late to save his paradise. She swore this man would take all blame, If she were to retain his name. Though he tried to appease her whim, Never again would she hold him. And now he wonders, just as well How far from the truth his words fell. Those words she insisted he say, Then condemned him, and walked away. But regret is a fickle thing, Second guessing holds its own sting. So he’s vowed to think on it naught, Upon this path Destiny wrought. Wandering lands of lassitude, Ill-gotten gains and platitude; His trek, it holds him on the brink, Still his sliced wrists only bleed ink. But somewhere on the morrow’s dawn, Beyond the well of sorrow’s drawn; He’ll start to sing some gentle hymn, Not knowing it’s his requiem. Yet when he’s done, he’ll see it then… The no more where, the no more when. The no more how, the no more why, The broken wings that still won’t fly. The shifting sands beneath his feet, The earth become his judgment seat. That terror trail across the skies, First time seen through unclouded eyes. Where, with arms wide, falling to knees, He’ll cry out, but who’ll hear his pleas? The gods above, with their turned heads? His lover in her many beds? His demons, bored, and moving on? The ground which he’s stumbled upon? No! It will just swallow him whole, Yet grant no rest ‘his stricken soul. For, once more, he’ll just turn the cheek Toward a road ahead, long and bleak; While crystal balls show, yet again, The eternal price of his sin. Michael Anderson 7/04/2013 |
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| © Copyright 2014 Michael Anderson - All Rights Reserved | |||
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JerryPat2 Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975South Louisiana |
Once again you bleed profusely from self-inflicted jabs and cuts, slashes and hope is dashed toward the sinking sun, you sinking thoughts bear fantastic reading even thous grim and dissolute. ~*~ If they give you ruled paper write sideways. ~*~ |
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bel1e Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631 |
One cannot help but fall for this hero....regret IS a fickle thing...and we just get pulled inexorably on and on...love how you spill, Michael~*~ ~write on~*~ |
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