Thursday, August 16, 2012

Seed


A far off storm
ripples through the moist
night.

Laying there,
eyes moving beneath taught lids,
my muscles tense as
a stiffness spreads like moist cobwebs
just beneath my skin.

Then, just as
an anesthetic failure on the operating table-
my eyes peel wide with silent panic,
a warm tear falls down my temple;
my tongue is cotton, and
I cannot cry out.

It's not a masked
killer, or an oily, 
tentacled monster that chases me-
but the rotten seed of a plant
sewn from love and left to the frost,
many years before.

We are all each other's
nagging feelings.

They say our ears turn red 
when thoughtful people remember; but
cold fright is more accurate
tale as
a shadow slithers 
across my grave.

Long hours I've spent with ghosts;
judging, questioning,
continuing ill-fated affairs and
imagining unwritten romance.

All the grudges held 
out of unfounded, misplaced pride
and embittered in the fires of 
childish haste;
fall back, turning around
and sour only myself.

All of these things are chasing me

and every moment I lay calm,
resigned to deep dreams-

she finds me,

she hugs me,

and I wake 

screaming.







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