deepundergroundpoetry.com
Postmortem Letter
With calloused hands
you snuffed out the primordial spark,
you drove the nails into
the living wood of infancy
with the eyes of a father,
the heart of a sphinx,
will you let me find my cloud
in this blinding black sky?
All that's left of you
is the algebra of your life,
cryptic letters on a cold, dead stone,
will I ever cut the rope
that strangles my neck
or will I succumb
to the demon that whips my back
on this crooked path to hell?
you snuffed out the primordial spark,
you drove the nails into
the living wood of infancy
with the eyes of a father,
the heart of a sphinx,
will you let me find my cloud
in this blinding black sky?
All that's left of you
is the algebra of your life,
cryptic letters on a cold, dead stone,
will I ever cut the rope
that strangles my neck
or will I succumb
to the demon that whips my back
on this crooked path to hell?
Published 4th Jan 2023
Author's Note
Another attempt at rendering my feelings about my father in poetic form.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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Anonymous
20th Jan 2023 10:00pm
This is just so… raw. And I mean that in a good way.
There’s this really visceral quality to it that you just can’t turn away from. It feels as if you poured all of you out onto a white, blank page while we watch the blot appear like an explosion. Little bit of mastery here.
Thank you.
There’s this really visceral quality to it that you just can’t turn away from. It feels as if you poured all of you out onto a white, blank page while we watch the blot appear like an explosion. Little bit of mastery here.
Thank you.
21st Jan 2023 1:37pm
Thanks so much for your words! Indeed, this is very personal. I can say I've succeeded if you've felt my catharsis.
Again, thank you!
Mundus
Again, thank you!
Mundus
