Fair Game

Discussion in 'Poet's Corner' started by BelovedDreamer, Dec 3, 2013.

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  1. BelovedDreamer

    BelovedDreamer Well-Known Member

    Especially my own
    is hard for me
    to quantify.
    I cannot claim to have none,
    to know nothing of what it is
    to rage and bridle,
    but my anger
    my volumes,
    for I am sure what is and has been is vast,
    my volumes disappear
    acquire ambiguity of chimera-proportions,
    until they are not recognizable,
    within a flash of coming to exist.
    Sand through a sly and gaping sieve.
    All pours inward,
    and if it comes back out
    it wears a different face
    or has been given only
    my name
    my flesh
    my imperfections
    to rattle and scrape against.
    Utterly mutable.
    Driven out of its proper channels
    it has gone underground
    chosen the only paths open to it.
    Like King Hagar’s unicorns,
    with the Red Bull, stalwart, stamping behind,
    fleeing into the waves,
    for lack of any other open avenues.
    So goes my anger,
    a flood of sharp hooves with a beast behind,
    roaring down the only paths left
    when all else was labeled unsuitable.
    A flood into,
    some diving deep beneath the surface
    dormant and malignant,
    some wracking the body
    rebranded into terror without a face
    or naming themselves rightly
    but choosing a target
    whose flesh they owned.
    I don’t generally think of it so,
    as a desecration,
    but many would use the word
    and it has a ring to it
    so I will not deny
    desecration, I have wreaked,
    upon my self,
    in a million tangible and intangible ways.
    It is a sin to lash out at another
    in the twilight zone of my brain
    there is no time when it can be rightful or just.
    But I am fair game.
    I will never lift hand or voice against another
    but I will grieve and grieve in rage
    I do not know.
    Until I give out, having long ago given in.
    Until I live twice my present span of years
    but disease I could have forestalled
    as I had foreknowledge
    and the means at my disposal
    to stop it’s creeping
    takes me.
    Maybe the number held at the back of my brain
    will turn out to be prescient
    not just trauma.
    Maybe. Maybe.
    Maybe I will turn and face my herding shadows
    and storm forth onto a bright shore.
    Maybe Yes. Maybe No.
    Both are fair game.
  2. total eclipse

    total eclipse SF Friend Staff Alumni

    Keep writing the words out hun it does help iuse to write but lost that ability now hugs to you
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