against the wall

“When your back is against the wall, there is only one thing
to do, and that is turn around and fight.”—John Major

the earth me live would swallow, if she could,
and contemplate that she had done me good;
but time is not yet right to kick the bucket,
my seed yet ripe enough for hands to pluck it.

she decimates my ego with her fire,
spoils my escape with razor-sharp barbed wire;
and when her quicksands drink me to the neck,
my head reels with her evil discotheque.

the voices of live shadows make their mock,
bending my sanity around the clock.
yet, none can hear my decrescendo call,
for i am pressed hair-thin against the wall.

there’s no safe place left here for me to hide;
survival gaskets in my soul collide.
the earth me live would swallow, if she could,
my innocence grossly misunderstood.

let my amen resound the battle cry:
attend, ye ruins, my lean soliloquy!
for, though my back be pressed against the wall,
i shall not cringe from death’s mean protocol.

© Copyright 2024 August 29
by Clyve A. Bowen♫