Monday 27 August 2012

Scrub-land


Upon first glance, I am separate
Quite banished
and free to swing wildly
from Heaven to Hell

All in between is a blur…
In rapid insignificance
on the same futile plane

A map is marked with crosses
A million crucifixes
Scattered ridiculously
Around coffin-shaped benches

No one in particular rests here (with absent breath)
Vital organs fall at invisible feet
And are picked up as carrion
By the ghosts of wings that are long since dead

Battered and more than a little broken
In unrestrained violence
It still echoes here
In screaming silence
Accompanied only by the muffled beating
Of a corrupted drum

If I should jump from this joyful motion
I fear the plummet into the landfill below
Would leave me aptly vacant
And … somewhat amenable (malleable?)
Friendly (at least) and gratefully free
To clear and swill the last heart beats
From scrub-land, once perfused with ambition
And I am blamed, unjustly, for my gentle touch

Naivety dusts the forms of desiccated ventricles
Littered in sweated rivulets upon arid ground
I see all I am responsible for
My sins tread a lonely path
Counted… slowly
From righteous lips
As my heart is the only one left to bleed


19-08-2012



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