March 21, 2012

poem 89 of a poem a day for 2012



A child never asks to be born


they only ask for Love
and even then when
sorrow is in
every Sun
tomorrow is
the only promise
that truth wades in

when I was
younger than memory
could etch
my joy did fetch
the lecherous attention
of those that
would not mention
their intentions
upon my body
and my soul

prodigal son
and the ways I've run
clutching the rush for more
more ways to hide the pain
more ways to not have to
explain why to myself

walled tears
eventually break
every dam
I could ever make
so why bother I thought
and off my rocker I went
bending desires
like rusty nails
in dark corners
drying plasma in the paint
letting regret
finger every carve
I've tried to hide
with the desperation
of shine
of masking
of elational subterfuge

the deluge
always comes
always white-washes
always strewns
always litters
always remnant-parts
my dreams
I've let go
I've left dying
with every hope
jarred like fireflies
waiting to run out of air
my heart covered in ears
burning in cycles of crash

everywhere
I've ever gone
I never speak
of these trespasses
on the street
in the dirty quiet
of the bedroom
of the trusted neighbor
that molested me for years
this is not a blood that paints
the caves of my undoing
this is my humanity's last stand
the purity of my hunted will
given to what I empty
again and again
afraid to be filled
from where my shadow
has taken hold
of what holds
my hollow
to the disappearing
hallows of
what grounds
me here


EJR (c)

2 comments:

  1. Beautiful, terrible, you inspire me so Edward.

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  2. This screams and begs to be read aloud. Your writing bends my mind and I find myself going back over and over, in the selfish pleasure of experiencing more and more. The fourth stanza in particular is incredibly sharp and after reading that stanza, I found I was staring at the words and not breathing. So very fortunate to have found you, poet.

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