yet to be named

Witching hour is 

over, Now 4 a.m, 

My soul can release 

the tension from

holding steady. I can 

got to bed now. 

I stand my ground

every day always

anticipating, 

If at all I should 

slip, the demons 

in the dark would

close their fists. 

Grab me up and 

then, tear me 

end to end. 

They who want

me, wait for my 

untimely made 

mistake. 

I cheated them. 

Once. 

And I carry the scar. 

You can never 

see it. Under the 

the surface, so deep

placed so far. 

I alone will

ever know it's 

mark.  A game, 

Scored on stamina. 

Mentaly the battleground
is marred with all

the gory pieces

torn out my bleeding

heart. 

Mind always waiting, 

Never fading. 

Sleep is fleeting,

I can construct no 

net in which to 

catch it. 

Will it ever go

away?

Will I ever burry 

this hatchet? 

There was a 

bounty to be paid, 

the cost was

great. No one 

however promised 

it brought pain. 

Pain you can not

treat, or see. 

It is not 

a physicality. 

NO tangible entanglement, 

the lasting effects

evident. 

Staring down my 

own decent. 

Adamant to stay

atop the surface

I conduct my own

three ring circus.

My enemies walk

about my abbrasive

displays. Judging

character on orchastrated

plays, each on 

its own main stage. 

Of course, I in the center

the ring master. 

Playing Lion tamer. 

I judge them beneth

my clever facade, 

here they do not hide. 

All the while I'm 

planning, strategizing 

where I place my 

knife. Of all places 

not in they themselves

but amongst all 

their chains that

bind them like the

animals they truly are. 

I would see them 

hang themselves

rather than take life from them. 

Some day when my 

mind is stong

I will strike. 

My attack a surprise, my 

victory my prize. 

And I will sit

and watch the

life leave their eyes. 

With each one taking back

what was mine, 

avenging myself in 

my appointed time. 

When all is done

I will return from

where I once came, 

after victory day. 

When I am old and 

all but forgotten, I'll 

fall to the ground

eventualy become rotten. 

But life will sprout from 

where i landed. My 

body the fertilizer, 

my love and heart 

the food. 

Then my soul

will be the 

care taker. 

My journey in this world

will never truley end. 





Poetry by montana
Read 611 times
Written on 2016-10-28 at 14:23

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jim The PoetBay support member heart!
I've been reading your poems for many years now. Your voice has grown strong, you don't fool around with your words, you say it directly, and that's all to the good. It's good to see "montana" pop up again.

Take care,
jim
2016-10-29

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