Monday, October 7, 2013


Somewhere in between
the choices I made and those made for me,
I find myself unclean.
Keep your distance, only whisper;
the darkness here tends to fester.  
I will bite my thumb at you, sir.
And you can claim no offense, sir,
but I know this cur.

This bitch will come unchained,
un-maimed, again unclaimed,
searching for blame. It's not the same.
Fists tight, I aim to fight.
To wake a dragon that never
sleeps leaves no room for clever endeavors.
When death escapes the cave
all is left to the depraved.

Once brave, now I crave
what was my innocence,
misguided sense, teeth clinched.
Unsure of the next tense, I close my eyes and aim
to claim whatever I can do to overcome this.
I am ashamed and would be remiss
not to admit:
I'd sell everything I own to forget.

1 comment:

kmackay said...

a lot of power here. even though there's the sense of power lost, it still feels strong.