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Subject: Poems: 291218 - December 29th, 2018
From: Robert Morpheal <morpheal@yahoo.com>
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291218A
-----------
Questions
of revoked access,
deleted permissions,
that cut us off
from each other.
Accumulated patterns,
collage road maps,
exposing
the true lay of the land,
of broken up.
Run the gauntlets,
of meet up,
to rising fee structures,
provident of estrangements,
playing marbles.
Gathering discouragement
evidence,
arranged in memory book
reminders
of history.
Rich man's mockery,
beggar man's fool,
trying to come
straight up the middle
of the great divide.
Tried to do it,
their way:
discovered the big lie.
Lifelong learning:
the wrong lesson plan.
Pay until you drop,
and you still do not know,
any more than churned
back and forth,
into broken down.
The threat remains,
and you are turning red
with embarrassments,
shuffling your feet
on soft political ground.
It fell through,
as it always does:
to leave you craving
choices
you never really had.
------------------------
291218B
------------
I was found guilty,
of wanting you.
My punishment was severe.
Sent into exile,
back to my self.
The parole hearings
went badly.
They refused to listen
to any of my arguments,
as they made further demands.
They kept me sleepless,
insisting repeatedly
that I had not given you up,
and reminding me
whenever I forgot.
We went on this way,
until you were the scars,
from where I was whipped
every night,
as regular as clockwork.
Every day I was a make believe
that nothing was happening,
pretending at being alive
to the routine torments
of intense boredom.
------------------------
291218C
------------
This corrupted vessel,
plunged into a poisoned stream,
leaking its pain
through fissures and cracks,
of each shattering event:
sequences of self destruction.
It holds nothing,
beyond its own emptiness.
Conch shell,
of endless warnings,
rushing sea of winds,
hurrying every which way.
An eradication
of every original meaning,
that ever made an attempt
at being born into something.
Crushed debris
picked over for anything soft.
Died a thousand deaths,
replayed into eternities of cries,
in the finality of a ritual
that always ends in forsaken
back to the same desolation
and no one believing a word.
Same as love letters,
crumpled into bittersweet,
blushing of nothings.
Turned into various regrets,
as to cancelled invites,
made of recycled language.
Forced to deny anything
that might have been of value.
Expired stock in trade,
down to revulsion at skin deep
passing strangers,
claiming they own heaven.
--------------------------------
291218D
-----------
Split atom to the core,
and ground down
to being an abrasion
of particulate matter.
The brain is grit,
variously sized,
trying to smooth out
endless rough spots.
The perpetual dominance
of forever rough
and damaging,
gouging away at it.
Pieces of anything
that was cherished
broken off
to adrift downstream.
Spent your life
trying to learn to swim
against the current,
for a chance to mate.
Perished in that attempt
to glisten admirably
and spawn
before carried away.
A skin bag
of ugly experiences,
struggling to invent
something new.
-------------------
And now for something completely different. I am sure you would never admit that it can be that bad. I assure you that it can be. Then again some of us are scarecrows outstanding in our fields.
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