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In the Unsleeving of a Life
In the unsleeving of a life, glances low...
You’re the one I always thought too much of,
You’re the one I never said enough to,
Nor cleft my dire roots to sprout the first move.
Friday night was foul anesthesia,
Too spun too far to reach your radiant hem,
Left in ocean depths, bland amnesia,
My darker pride’s fit made wilt the graft stem.
Clinic sliver rips of pain’s division,
A rude beast kneads in a royal kennel,
Its’ icy breath crawls up the bitten skin,
It screams as the Light through my last tunnel.
Of all new scenes these entered scenes supply,
Of you, the last sight I had, still flashes by.
You’re the one I always thought too much of,
You’re the one I never said enough to,
Nor cleft my dire roots to sprout the first move.
Friday night was foul anesthesia,
Too spun too far to reach your radiant hem,
Left in ocean depths, bland amnesia,
My darker pride’s fit made wilt the graft stem.
Clinic sliver rips of pain’s division,
A rude beast kneads in a royal kennel,
Its’ icy breath crawls up the bitten skin,
It screams as the Light through my last tunnel.
Of all new scenes these entered scenes supply,
Of you, the last sight I had, still flashes by.
Published 1st Aug 2014
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1st Aug 2014 3:23am
This is almost more a Drugs Poems category poem, but it was based on the trials of unfulfilled love, so I put it down here. It's about a girl I sort of knew and admired from afar during my last forays in the academic environments, but at the time I was too gone to pursue the courtship with her. The strange story behind this one is that months later, after parting ways upon the daily life's travels forever, I was ill and had to have a procedure done at a hospital. They had hooked me up to a liquid sedative IV and as I lay on the bed trying to fight it off and stay awake as much as possible, as I always try to do, I could see the cover of a Reader's Digest magazine on a nearby magazine rack, and there was a picture of some girl on the cover who looked exactly like the girl I was so madly in love with. So it was that cherished image and memory which traveled with me as I drifted off into the oblivion...
Funny how these poems come about...
Funny how these poems come about...
