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Monday, September 24th, 2001
12:49a - Run Whilst Thou Can...
I honestly can not recall when I last committed the despicable act of poetry. I know I have dabbled with both blank and metered verse, rhymed or not, since I actually took COURSES in it in College. Workshops. That sort of thing.

I can think of maybe 6 or 7 efforts worth the word, with one notable exception: The poem I wrote the night Tony died. Actually, Tony had died either the previous Friday of the overdose of pills and booze, or months earlier when he had somehow lost hope in full view of the people who knew him best without us noticing. Note to those who know me (or would) -- forgive me if I seem over-bearingly solicitous -- this is the reason, or at least one of them.

Anyway, that is the one piece that I think poured straight from me, one of the few times expressing myself in verse matched my need to inflict prose upon an unsuspecting world. One day I'll gather the courage to transcribe it here.

Tonight, I give you this.

Taken



I drove fast
Trying to outrun the sights
It wasn't fast enough
They still catch me, hold me,
And I
Fall
Through the air
Silent, screaming, holding hands; alone

I closed my eyes
Trying to hold back the flashes
It wasn't dark enough
The fog rolls over me, swirls,
And I
Burn
Thinking "Tuesday
That's the day this would happen"

I played the music loud
trying to drown out the sounds
It will never be loud enough
The sound isn't described
And I
Die
Shaken apart
As you took it from me

Can fear itself die?
Can a fire burn you hot enough
Can it be crushed by greater force
Is it smothered,
A tumor
Denied sustenance?
What shall I
Be
If not afraid?

Can I choose a weapon?
Walk ten paces with the swine fornicator
Turn and face the tool of the same god
The same spirit,
The same
One
Look into eyes and see
The nature of smaller minds

Framing shallow, hateful deities,
Knowing this I would perform
This retroactive Act,
Decades too late, this faith
Neither mine
nor
Yours to prove
The burnt offering at the stake

What would satisfy blood?
You are single to the many gone
Eyes you have but two,
Life you have but one
Have you
No
Soul to barter
Did it die?

(ere you murdered mine)


Faster, darker, louder; Crying
Not enough, ever
And yet
Even
Rape
Ends.

Yohannon -- Mabon 2001



current mood: quixotic

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