No ratings.
This poem is a projection into the future. |
WHEN I SHALL GREY Fear twitches me in the face Each day these closures Unbind me and suffusion Cracks the shroud of fervent thoughts Doing battles in my mind to frighten My gruesome image. On that fateful discovery moment- cotton grey Cessation to walk my shadow home slowly- I shall agile my footsteps to a decline of Normality, wall of fragments I must pack In the liberated crypt of another living and Sprinkles tell the hangman to trace my chapter When the read is over and only the brink Of death remains visible, erected time when wrinkles Become a snare in the face, when walking stick Becomes sufficient companion and eyelashes Dim to cloy of webs. The feeling of done On my door will be the suppliant cage to fester My prided nest. The fruit shall be ripe to Millions of reapers searing the metaphor of flesh. Saturated atmosphere must sift pressure from The debt of silent chimes walled in the refugee Camp of growing old. I admire this Constant fear. We must analyze fate Whose spell is hallowed on fossil of providence So nature abhors vacuum if sacrifice is shaped On the womb of sadness, and submits trick Accomplished to the wind in another sober Reflection drawn from the presages of the ever Passing time beyond the fleece of my head. |