Poetry From the Edge


Michelle Tercha ©2003


Hypnotic Sleep

Exhaustion looms
from woven strips of life
I've been attacked
by fatigue filled syringes
so brutal the desire
to close my eyes
and let sleep
perform her miracles
But my sleep
provides no miracles
it only plants
seeds of
opiate filled dreams
that grow through
every corner of my being
making sleep a
luscious treat
no matter if I
need be awake
I am forever
closing my eyes
closing off the world
to retreat into my
deep, everlasting slumber

Garden of Thorns

Pain pricks at my veins
Like lion teeth needles
drawing blood
You reap what you sow
You reap what you sow
My skin is a silken
web of woven spurs
My soul is blemished
from unkindness
and sins from long ago
You reap what you sow
You reap what you sow
So I wear my
robe of thorns
and walk, burdened
by pain and
unrelenting sorrow
my head hung low
heavy with thoughts
of my blazing shroud
trying to put
myself in a stupor
but I'm walking
through the valley
with the shadow
of my death
and I've sown
what I reap

Plate Tectonics

Bone against bone
Heart against soul
Mind against brain
Pressing together
Crashing to a halt
Continents move with ease
Creeping slowly against
Time and space
And my logic is gone
My reason bereft
My heart empty
For reasons unknown
I drift uneasy
Deep in the cavern
Of the lost souls
And again,
I am nameless,
Faceless, stripped
Of my being
My sense of self
Struggles with pain
Degradation and despair
Have left me shattered
Compressed against
Horrifyingly jagged cliffsides
The edge of a lifetime
The end of my lifeline
Blurred among the
Movement of the continents

The Basilisk

Devilishly green, oozing slime
fifty feet, maybe more
His steaming yellow eyes
search his prey
with genuine acumen
Split tongue forces
venom, deadly to
the touch
and this horrific snake
resides only in
the minds of the insane
But legend says
he lives stories below
the subway subculture
shedding the seeping reptilian
skin, diseased from filth
He munches on the
blood of the unfortunate
taking pleasure in
capturing souls for
his own collection
He coils himself around
the minds of the ill
Seizing the sense
of the poor demented
And here he is now
writing these very words

The Devil And The Quill

Blood red soaked towels
adorn my floor again
When I saw recovery
in the corner of the universe
I morphed into a marionette
controlled by the Devil within
How dare they give me new hope
when I only dance for laughter
Devils, gods and kings
relish in my hope
for they pull the strings
and rule my house of pain
Cut these strings, let me drop
miles and miles into hell itself
The pay isn't any good
and my life not worth a dime
Thorn strewn fields I walk
blood and blood some more
rule me this day
along with my quill
and my answers will only come
with the flow of my blood
Devil's advocate, take me now
They don't hold prisoners
only hope on strings
and puppets for pleasure

The Meridian

my weak mind
turns against me again
how dare these horrid
visions appear before
me in my distressed state
how could this be?
when I thought I'd
returned from the
edges of hell
victorious- yet I learn
it was just a vacation
i will never escape
these rocky cliffs
of my mind
circling the globe
looking for peace
or dare I say,
mental health?
evil scars my brain anew
no longer lurking in the shadows
haunted by my every wish
these nightmares of black
set against the drawn
out sea of endless nights
vultures picking at
the carrion of my wasting
psyche, leftovers from
past fights for sanity
my only hope now
is for madness to take over
to move in, sweep away
the cobwebs of disaster
and take its rightful
ownership upon my
stupified brain
for in that vain
madness can only
invite happiness
blissful and unashamed
unadorned with promises
of health, for
the promise is the
real destruction

Psychotic Flies

About a blink in
This evil dimension
Called life
In three days
Trauma to my
fragile state of mind
grows enormously
In three days
I've begged to be
released from
this hell hole
only to be laughed
at by vile
creatures who
rule our existence
Parasitic swine who
taunt me daily
reminding me of
past transgressions
and fissures in
my soul
I hurl myself
against a closed
window hoping
to break the shell
that's encrusted my brain
In three days
I've hurt three people
In three days
I've repented
Three days
forever in my mind

A Dark And Stormy Night

I sat by the fire
reading Poe.
The roaring wind
shook my little cabin.
But I was unaware.
Reading Poe.
Reading Poe.
I shut my eyes for
just a moment when
I heard a knock
on my door.
I rose, startled,
to answer the door.
There was a knock
upon my door,
but no one was there.
In the distance
I heard the wind's
voice whistling
through the willows.
"Nevermore, nevermore."
And I was

Hell's Mistress

Desperation is hot, humid
like a thick stew
of summer haze
and I am tired
of this dense medley
of anger, pain and exhaustion
I wish for nothing
for I am in hell
no death, no reception
no mark of my life
because it doesn't exist
it ended when I chose
to stop the endless fight
I was getting nowhere
like a hamster on a wheel
it was a precipitous climb
but no more
I don't have anything
left to give
Don't try to extend
a hand
I won't grab it
I've resigned myself
to my hell on earth
and I wait
just wait
and nothing more

Heaven's Pond, Hell's Cauldron

I sit in purgatory
the land of the lost
waiting my fate
for the evil to be
judged against me
How I dream to be
reunited with the
souls of the past
longing to wade
in Heaven's healing
pond, but knowing
fate can be cruel
Especially after
my life was taken
What matters that
I spent an eternity
on earth going
from pill to pill
magic to therapy
The last deed
will be the only count
My soul has been a
whipping post for
those far superior
and I envision
Hell's cauldron
waiting for me
but no pitchfork
only more pain