Not Dead Yet


You are not dead, I tell myself
You have merely gone into hibernation
Your likeness is embedded in my core
At the centre of the hurricane
What consolation can be derived
From your dull and frigid overflow?
That will never again reach the sea
Who but you will swim through this desolate space?
You are the forbidding orb that overhangs
The marsh of my heart. An oracular symbol
Just out of view; looking down with disdain
Bleak in concept you hunt me like a hawk

The grass blows frenziedly
And, like me, it bemoans its destiny
Its feeble lack of rigidity as cruelly,
Mercilessly, the night snatches at it
What is it you want from me, I ask
For I feel that I have given you everything I had
You imprison me within your territory
Of ivory castles and bones of ebony
The atmosphere descends, oppressing me
A night as dark as a whore’s knee high boots
On which silver buttons shine.
The horizon is forever beyond my reach


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2 Responses to “Not Dead Yet”

  1. Phil Groom Says:

    Your poetry reaches places few poets manage to touch: thank you.


  2. The Secret Life of a Manic Depressive Says:

    I love your poems!


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