Skeletons rule the attic,
rooks have left the board
emptiness I can’t explain,
darkness untoward
Lapses in my memory,
lyrics left unsung
chasing all those things I’m not,
orphan on the run
Monday turns to Thursday,
Tuesday, Wednesday lost
time on fire, burning fast,
sanity the cost
One last chance for freedom,
pathway to the cliff
to jump into my deepest fear
—or sink in this abyss
(The New Room: February, 2022)
-
Author:
Kurt Philip Behm (
Offline) - Published: March 10th, 2022 13:32
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 29
- Users favorite of this poem: Laura🌻, Christina8, L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments5
Kurt,
Just left MSK…turned on my iPhone…and there’s your posting which I’ve just read. Another amazing, but necessary write…with heartbreaking effects.
I’m thankful for your shares because it brings to the forefront what really matters in the insane world of ours. Our personal situation can’t compare to what’s happening.
Laura🌻
Thanks, I hope you got good news.
You’re most welcome.
And let’s hope we don’t
‘sink in this abyss’ .🙏🏻
Just an excellent, stirring, well written poem! Wonderful Kurt!
Thanks Christina. Very kind of you.
were it not
for our self-stifling chains
binding our poetic dreams
to mere mortal streams
than, pure poetry's
innate river's
of limitless elemental essence
of interdimensional, intergalactic creativity
and irrespective
of Time, Trend or Tangibility's
restraints;
what poetic gaiety
would our words contain..
were we Truly, free
to chase after Coleridge's Xanadu, mirage realms
or Shelley's Skylark, of fleeting poetic expression
what wondrous imagination
we could distil and share
with this
our beleaguered and stunted world...
but whilst, one of us
still chooses
'To Reach'
like you, dear Kurt
can we not all, grip
your tailcoat
and strive, to soar
within Poetry's, most
instinctive peak clouds
of 'Wordsworthian or egotistical sublime'...
Humbled...thanks LB.
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