Wandering Lost

A metaphor stands before a wooden door,
Worn smooth from many a knocking knuckle,
And sadly turns away.
A metaphor in the tavern roar,
A metaphor in the fray.
A metaphor in the penny whore,
Who turns her eyes away.
A metaphor sits upon the floor and wonders if there’s more,
Than sawdust soaking up spilled ale and blood,
But the mess is swept away.

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Published in: on July 28, 2010 at 3:27 pm  Leave a Comment  
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I Could Not Be Still

I have stared into the void
Seen all hope destroyed
Grown weary and annoyed
And still I carried the weight
Built sky-scraping altars to fate
Worshiped gods I could not sate
With sacrifices of labor or love
Tumbled into quicksand while staring above
Wandered lost in the mire while chasing a dove
Gave up desire and found it again
In a look or a gesture or a transient grin
In a word or a deed or a moment of sin

I have held it in my hands
Sifted through the sands
Of time in unforgiving lands
Of listlessness and despair
To find the treasures hidden there
Where heartless beasts without care
Whispered words of failure to sap my will
Encouraged me to drink my fill
Of lethargy and let the stones be still

But I could not be still

I saw a shape
The outline was plain
A silhouette, but
What did it contain?
I saw a movement
Felt it reflected within
Suggestions and shadows
But the mirror stayed dim
I saw a ladder
A pathway of tears
And I could not be still
So I chased down my fears

Published in: on September 27, 2009 at 6:13 pm  Comments (2)  
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