LilThought
03-13-2003, 03:14 PM
Well, I havent posted in awhile. Much has happened. Last night was bad... my hamster, best friend, best listener, died... didnt help how im feeling... panic attack...concerned friends, cutting, not eating, skipping class, silence. I wrote this poem to get out all the intense feelings inside. so so so so so many feelings. this is about last night.
Between two palms
Between two palms, life breathed
Without breathing
And I cried
Without crying
Tranquil raindrops trembling down
The sky,
Fatal frugality scampering up
A ladder
There is no down, there is no up, there is no ladder
Here never really was determined
And then,
an echo escaped from Alcatraz:
Escapee, Escapee
Scalawags are running,
The tyrannous sounds, the fictitious voices,
The pounding in my head, ending, ending, gone.
Alarms, too many alarms,
Hissing, snake-like hissing,
Merciful dictator, oh God,
I can see it all too clearly!
Blindness is too sweet a sorrow,
the brutality sweeping right through me,
open door, empty pocket, broken chest
fire screeching a foul, foul song
Plagiarizing storm,
Liar, liar
I can’t believe a dream is a dream.
Gusts of wind, hollering shadows,
And spastic lights,
Clenched fists, braved tortures, fascistic faces
melting between two palms, broken glass
Calamity within calamity, bleeding skin
One after the other,
Thunder cloud within thunder cloud,
Bolts of angels hitting the ground,
Bang and crack, whimpering feathers, moaning halos moaning,
My eyes weren’t as engraved, burdensome torches, desecrate graves.
A procession of militia from heaven’s gates,
Hell isn’t half as haunting, nightmares fair as lilacs, soft as rain.
The night that never fainted, before, all things collapse,
I’ve had enough of world wars, deprivation,
Bruised and shadowed.
My lungs filled with exploitation,
Sickly, wan manipulation stinging my palms
like a rushing torrent of bullets, ammunition, gun shots,
shock waves moving the earth, continental drift,
final divide,
and I, I spilt over myself
like the Niagara, suffocated child, abandoned orphan,
crazy, crazy drifter.
I flooded streets and wreaked havoc
Through cities of cities of cities.
Small cities, big cities,
cities that never existed,
reflecting on how it feels
to hold innocence, purity, embryonic seed,
in these hands, hands I am afraid to claim,
(proclamation, declaration), fright master, flabbergasted,
as mine own, hands, mine own, that are tainted, pandemic,
marvels sifting through these fingertips,
too weak to carry on, to grasp a mountain, to compress Mt Rushmore,
me and my trash compactor.
I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, my own fixation, abomination.
Again this voice,
my echo with a foreign accent,
Between these palms,
deadly errors, sticks and stones, sacred Rome;
Poisoned bones, drunken skeletons, crunchy shoes
And gravel.
Dirty stairwells go on and on, infantile walkways, Stop.
This is home.
JLM
Between two palms
Between two palms, life breathed
Without breathing
And I cried
Without crying
Tranquil raindrops trembling down
The sky,
Fatal frugality scampering up
A ladder
There is no down, there is no up, there is no ladder
Here never really was determined
And then,
an echo escaped from Alcatraz:
Escapee, Escapee
Scalawags are running,
The tyrannous sounds, the fictitious voices,
The pounding in my head, ending, ending, gone.
Alarms, too many alarms,
Hissing, snake-like hissing,
Merciful dictator, oh God,
I can see it all too clearly!
Blindness is too sweet a sorrow,
the brutality sweeping right through me,
open door, empty pocket, broken chest
fire screeching a foul, foul song
Plagiarizing storm,
Liar, liar
I can’t believe a dream is a dream.
Gusts of wind, hollering shadows,
And spastic lights,
Clenched fists, braved tortures, fascistic faces
melting between two palms, broken glass
Calamity within calamity, bleeding skin
One after the other,
Thunder cloud within thunder cloud,
Bolts of angels hitting the ground,
Bang and crack, whimpering feathers, moaning halos moaning,
My eyes weren’t as engraved, burdensome torches, desecrate graves.
A procession of militia from heaven’s gates,
Hell isn’t half as haunting, nightmares fair as lilacs, soft as rain.
The night that never fainted, before, all things collapse,
I’ve had enough of world wars, deprivation,
Bruised and shadowed.
My lungs filled with exploitation,
Sickly, wan manipulation stinging my palms
like a rushing torrent of bullets, ammunition, gun shots,
shock waves moving the earth, continental drift,
final divide,
and I, I spilt over myself
like the Niagara, suffocated child, abandoned orphan,
crazy, crazy drifter.
I flooded streets and wreaked havoc
Through cities of cities of cities.
Small cities, big cities,
cities that never existed,
reflecting on how it feels
to hold innocence, purity, embryonic seed,
in these hands, hands I am afraid to claim,
(proclamation, declaration), fright master, flabbergasted,
as mine own, hands, mine own, that are tainted, pandemic,
marvels sifting through these fingertips,
too weak to carry on, to grasp a mountain, to compress Mt Rushmore,
me and my trash compactor.
I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, my own fixation, abomination.
Again this voice,
my echo with a foreign accent,
Between these palms,
deadly errors, sticks and stones, sacred Rome;
Poisoned bones, drunken skeletons, crunchy shoes
And gravel.
Dirty stairwells go on and on, infantile walkways, Stop.
This is home.
JLM