deepundergroundpoetry.com
xviii: evocation
It is not prophecy -
this thing, scarlet and viscus
slithering in the sand at my feet.
It spewed wetly from my gaping grin -
a sad monument to the years.
In the conceit of the rising sun,
my teeth became redundant.
(I alone am at fault)
... Can a pyre built for a self burn rage enough
burn wild enough
burn spite enough
To slough off the flesh, the meat,
the contempt, the weeds?
Leaving my bones free to cast an offering to the stars
mirrored and diffused softly into the waves -
the breaking crest a singular invitation to
my unrelenting yearning
for that place of mythic transition.
Mere survival will not suffice this time.
this thing, scarlet and viscus
slithering in the sand at my feet.
It spewed wetly from my gaping grin -
a sad monument to the years.
In the conceit of the rising sun,
my teeth became redundant.
(I alone am at fault)
... Can a pyre built for a self burn rage enough
burn wild enough
burn spite enough
To slough off the flesh, the meat,
the contempt, the weeds?
Leaving my bones free to cast an offering to the stars
mirrored and diffused softly into the waves -
the breaking crest a singular invitation to
my unrelenting yearning
for that place of mythic transition.
Mere survival will not suffice this time.
Published 10th Dec 2024
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 3
reading list entries 2
comments 3
reads 119
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
10th Dec 2024 9:09pm
I'm ordinarily not a fan of free verse but I will be damned if I'm not loving every bit of your work here.
Do you have a volume of your poems available?
The ecospheric motif of it all is nothing less than spectacular.
Do you have a volume of your poems available?
The ecospheric motif of it all is nothing less than spectacular.
Anonymous
- Edited 8th Jan 2025 8:45am
11th Dec 2024 7:18pm
<< post removed >>
12th Jan 2025 00:10am
Beautiful... !
I feel like saying: *nothing s else is out there except this poem*.
Congratulations, Feral.
... ... ... ...
I feel like saying: *nothing s else is out there except this poem*.
Congratulations, Feral.
... ... ... ...
