PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I've no affinity for viscera, gore,

just vague inclinations no one could root for;

mostly owing to futility absolved ...

or just tendencies to never get involved.

Who could be blamed? They've no shame to magnify,

no garbled words to clarify or explain ...

And who are they, anyway? And who are we?

... This is an esoteric territory.

Did I even use such a term correctly?

Sure nobody cares, and nobody's asking ...

So leave me basking in this vacuum of spurs.

Whence a commencement occurs, I may repent -

but until then I'm left, contemptuous, deft,

yet so damned bereft of any usefulness

that would make me a commodity to "she" --

the eternal, archetypal; the bride to be.

And I despair for my lack of care and touch,

but am equivalently selfish and dare

the world to reward me for being myself -

all too aware of the absurd and the just,

mutually-exclusive though they might seem.

I've got beauty of sorts, pouring out in reams,

but it's reared in a dark room with an echo

and the repetition is harrowing me.

In a better world this seal would be released -

the floodgates would open with impunity -

but such realms are light-years beyond scrutiny.

I'll build an ailing imitation unseen

by any that haven't been invited in

as a guest of the dome, a charge of my own;

a presence deserving of keys to my home.

I will drive out the noise alone, if I must.