deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Hunted
I walk the blackened highway as Orion claims the skies,
Unfolding as a tempest ‘fore these worn and weary eyes
While Darkness points the finger to a numbing in my chest—
While woe and wrong subdue the song of Life's long, futile quest.
Awakened to a wilderness of dying desert sand,
I sift the dreams, as if ashes, with cold and calloused hand.
I bite the palm to suck the blood, and peel the tainted skin,
To taste, in haste, the barren waste of antiquated sin...
...As Thunder, rent asunder, shreds all threads of living Light!
...As rain becomes the pain of day wrapped well into the Night!
...As if the crown, yet held on high, though worn by King and Clown,
Could stem in whole one hell-wrought soul to ever weigh me down!
Stretched far into the distance of a fast-fading false dawn,
What glimpse of hope, for this myope, by Mourning’s mist is drawn?
Oh, Hunter of the Night, give way that blinded eyes may see
Another day of black highway yet call me to the sea.
Lay me a vision, foul and deep, within tormented dreams,
If but a promise I can’t keep, along the way, it seems…
As castles fall, as Passion yields, and storms cry from the East;
She’s risen, from her fallen fields, that yet unconquered Beast!
So shall I stand on Virtue? Perhaps raise my shield in Jest?
With nothing left to offer, shall I offer you protest?
No, lay my sword ‘the ocean swells, I've nowhere left to roam;
Just cut these eyes cold from the cells, before you guide me home...
…To walk the unabridged wasteland of Man and Bird and Beast.
…To peer into the holocaust of Life and Dream deceased!
…To ponder aimlessly the hopes and hierarchy of prayer,
While counting countless falters on your altars of despair!
By feather or by talon or by claws as sharp as wit,
What game is there, left you and I, I have not yet forfeit?
What riddle stands that I must fall in rhymes of bated breath?
If first, if last; still before all, what sacrament in Death?
Michael Anderson
Published 29th Jun 2015
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29th Jun 2015 3:58pm
"antiquated sin.."
~luv-luv this phrase, it belongs in *da'book!
(tastes yum to me)
"…To walk the unabridged wasteland of Man and Bird and Beast.
…To peer into the holocaust of Life and Dream deceased!
…To ponder aimlessly the hopes and hierarchy of prayer,
While counting countless falters on your altars of despair!"
~gotsa be my fav, strong *everythng here darlins! ..like.. "altars of despair" cuz I
seem to lick those often in pain of body.
sacrament.. wud be bustin' the wte sage out
all over your thot-path here.. *giggles of yep
loves you Michael, sendin cool kisses to those acrid sands..winx
mwah
~T
~luv-luv this phrase, it belongs in *da'book!
(tastes yum to me)
"…To walk the unabridged wasteland of Man and Bird and Beast.
…To peer into the holocaust of Life and Dream deceased!
…To ponder aimlessly the hopes and hierarchy of prayer,
While counting countless falters on your altars of despair!"
~gotsa be my fav, strong *everythng here darlins! ..like.. "altars of despair" cuz I
seem to lick those often in pain of body.
sacrament.. wud be bustin' the wte sage out
all over your thot-path here.. *giggles of yep
loves you Michael, sendin cool kisses to those acrid sands..winx
mwah
~T
1st Jul 2015 3:23am
Yup, knew you would relate well to the "altars of despair" line. We have both paid much undue penance there me thinks. you alone taste yummy to me, babe.
*licks
Michael
*licks
Michael
1st Jul 2015 8:12am
aww, agreed, my Heart! ..are we umm..makins out? *the look.
(yep) ..*still exceptional, poetry too! ;)
mwahs~T
(yep) ..*still exceptional, poetry too! ;)
mwahs~T
1st Jul 2015 9:42am
4th Jul 2015 3:05am
An intriguing story told in brilliant imagery and celestial metaphor, exhaled with a smooth meter in very nicely formed rhymed scheme that never feels forced or unnecessary. From all aspects of poetry this is one of the finest works of verse I have read in quite some time! JJ
4th Jul 2015 3:35am
Wow JJ, that is a humbling comment. I thank you so much for that, and for stopping in to read. :)
Michael
Michael
