and here I am again
crouched in black
as angry as a Sunday to an owl.
less easy on the eye, perhaps
green matter on the soft side of my knees
passing skull and wishbone
on the long haul of a scream.
bequeathed at birth
the last remains
of Satan in a fragile state of mind.
now easy lies the crown
two rows back from laughter
upside down
diluted with the water of inane;
wearing thin
the muscles of my jaw
sleep nocturnal
as rigid as a door
holding tight my menopausal blood.
no flood should I encounter
here among the strangers in my den;
now catalyst devoid of such debate
as broad as willow
heavier than fog.
a sibling from the wrong side of the womb.
apostle white of dour consequence
a cameo in the leather of a fly
neatly packed with a postage stamp attire;
-
Author:
Melvin James (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 22nd, 2023 10:49
- Comment from author about the poem: losing my father to dementia. as cruel as cruel can be;
- Category: Sociopolitical
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15
Offline)
Comments2
Superb, sad as it is this terrible dimentia you bring truth of its calamity and I hope some healing to yourself. ❤️
all is good thank you Teddy.
So much power in your write. You shine a light on a dark subject.
thank you very much Thomas.
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