When lost to the moment
ill begotten by a wind
there twirls the devil’s cyclone
that traps all hope within
Foreign and invasive
it seeds wherein we fall
immune to every warning
Thomas doubting Paul
For babies who haven’t learned to cry
the border waits redemptive
Kerouac their fate inscribed
Mexico City Blues alive
In the emptiness of tomorrow’s lore
dead echoes grieve stillborn
despoiled voices lying mute
— unspoken in their scorn
(Dreamsleep: May, 2026)
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Author:
Kurt Philip Behm (
Offline) - Published: May 22nd, 2026 13:45
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 7
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments5
A powerful poem. Your poem articulates and confronts the complexities of human experience, particularly the silent suffering that often goes unrecognized in society. It invites readers to reflect on their own voices and the societal conditions that contribute to feelings of despair and isolation.
Very poignant. Thanks so much.
You're so welcome
This poem has a very haunting feeling that is dark in a fresh breeze. It's meaning illusive but the feeling not. Well done Kurt and a fave
"Dark in a fresh breeze" Wish I had written that 🙂
Kurt, this carries such a dark prophetic force through it...like a storm sermon delivered from the edge of collapse. The imagery feels restless and haunted from the very first lines onward. “There twirls the devil’s cyclone / that traps all hope within” immediately pulled me under. Powerful piece, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Again, a very poetic response. Thanks so much.
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