A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.

SELF-INFLICTED

Because we need
So we think it,
At first a tiny, shiny seed,
A grabbed-at-fairground rhinestone trinket,
Fortune's new found lure we heed -
Soon to surely bleed,
then drink it.

Down soaks a glowing warmth,
Replenishing the roots
it nourishes.
Up shoots a growing dwarf
Obsession suits so well,
it flourishes.

We bend to it,
Tend to it,
Hell never puts an end to it,
We'll find it
Clogs our empty pockets,
Spins our whining cogs and sprockets,
Sparks old plugs in wiry sockets,
Lightening up our damp, dark world.

The serpent, freed by inattention
From our nestling loins, uncurled,
Entwines the spine and next conjoins
Its spiral ascension
With a final intention
To spike the heart,
To strike the mind.

Because we need,
We believe it.
The art of love
Is redefined.


Post a Comment