PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Sitting in fearful silence, it’s

The only way I can connect:

Mind to words, soul-guided to

Their resting place.

But the more silently I sit, I risk

Rupture of the dam.



And,

worlds threaten to bleed.

                                                      

                                                    

A fissure exists so monstrous, I

Pile  sandbags to the brim.



Alone.

                                                    

Staggering and pale, I

Call the Chief  supervisor

---who’s patched things up before.

He shouts down to me, assuring

Rescue, that my deliverers are

Near.



I'm calm once more;

my strength returns.

                                                  

                                                      

For the moment.



But as days pass, I

Call out to angels, hoping their lowered ropes

Hoist me to safety.  But,



No reinforcements

to patch or plug.

                                                    

                                                  

As a night owl makes his round,

To my disillusionment the faithful are

Faithless and cowardly, deafmutes

Too absorbed in tending to their own dams

Perhaps, or too frightened by

The size of the rift.

I reannounce my trouble.  But

No midas for a golden victory;

Only Damocles laughing at the top,

Sword parting the final brick.

In a concluding s.o.s., the

Chief Supervisor himself, tiring of

Deserters, scales down the perilous

Walls, to lovingly take my hands



And,

together,

we wait.

                                                            

                                                          



And, here it comes:

The stinging of iodine on my cheeks, as

The megaton gale flogs my soul.

Shattering my own busyness, the

Muddy flow barrels along,



laying waste

to

Fort Knox.

                                                          

                                                            

So, the Chief hangs with me, as

Brown death overtakes me.  He

Holds my shaking form fast.

As I close my eyes, my

Own worlds bleed, as I’m

Crushed beneath the darkness,

Broken body dragged in tow.



At least,

He makes the trip

with me.

                                                                                                                        

I can hear garbled “sorrys,” from

The timid at the top.  As I take my

Last, I’m resolved to an empty

Demise,



With Daddy,

still,

holding on.



3/24/03