In The Country I Built


 

In The Country I Built

I dread the dawn
on a moonless night.
Travels my mind takes
only bring reality
to the edge of reason.
My sickness rules
to torment me
and hollow out emotion.
If I could only move
I wouldn't die
at the feet
of tomorrow.
But fomenting my life
agitating my fiends
mocking my mentality
compels the knives
of destruction
to attack my
abdominal wall.
Errant slashes
to the will of
migratory sense
stall my recovery
fabricating rule
over my decrepit disease.

 

 

Cartography



The roadmaps of youth
long gone, erased
by a single stitch,
etched into stone
by the chisel
that stood as confessor.
Mildly I rose,
then genuflected,
bared my scarred knees
on the porcelain floor.
Interstices lined
the features, instead.
Labeled cruelly by
time's compendium
of shame that
darkens, shadows
my forehead.
Such extremes
my lines have faced.
The pain that cried
silently in my ear,
marked time to
the beat of repentance.
Memory's taken
the long road home,
to the grief-stricken
face that bears
my name.

 

The Mirror Pool



Monsters of my nightmares
collected the pain
stored in the belly
of the armored moon
Brilliant in its silver
And the mirror
tells me lies
shows me love
When God's presence
asked for no one
to rescue me from
the driving force of agony
But I was always allowed
to suffer hard when
daylight drifted
I stare into the pool
glaze-eyed from
the brightest silver tank
and find my pain
more sub-human
than I could ever become

 

 

The Ocean In Winter



The vast emptiness of mortality
closes in on me, and
I sleep.
Eerie dreams take me
to the murky death
of the deserted shoreline,
should I
plunge like an
arctic bird,
vicious with the
intent only to eat.
Wrapped in the cover
of winter, reaching
through to the
pain of the snowfall,
new and bitter
on my face and hands,
I fall to my knees
to cry icicles
of shame, knowing
the ocean invites
me to swallow.

Bloom



It was early spring
before anyone noticed
the bright green foliage
that seeped through
the cracks of our garage
Blooms that splintered darkness
oblivious to the sound
of pain and
mercifully sustained
but restricted to anonymity
Quiet and cold
retreated to shadows
knowing only its time
to drop off the vine

 

 

Ice Floes



My heart rests heavy
with the lard of dismay
sitting upon it.
Ice water runs
through my arteries,
to dull the assault
of pain to my corpse.
Surreal images of death
stalking from behind
shroud me in armor,
but not prepared
for battle.
I see them, those
who produce the
floe of crushed ice
penetrating my brain.
I turn, and know
it's there, in flowers,
or dogs, or the sunlight.
Numbness takes over,
and at least I
can't feel the pressing
density of destruction
mounting like glaciers
claiming my soul.

 

The Cemetery Dance



Ivy covered Corpses
littered the canvas
of her fury, spreading
thin over her garden.

Infestation grew
and cobwebs of doubt
sprouted from polluted
streams of thought.

She wondered why
she was next
in a long line
of sullen nobodies.

And why her gardens
never prospered
like some of the others
shoved in her face.

Rage intensified
with every
blood-red sunset
emoting from the sky.

Mummified through her
own pain, long
manufactured from
strings of shame,

she finally let go.
Only comforted by
the cold marble
against her corpse.