this one's all about struggling with the aftermath of things


Intermittent Echo


I've lost another battle
and my world is on fire,
Bush-burning warning extended

People's dreams are lighting up the screen
And the scourge of mediocrity is bestowed.
Pandora has mine safe

Next to the skeleton keys,
Unopened letters, pieces of
Sentences I say in my mind only

The light is too bright
And my head is pounding,
Full of lead bolts

Weight of nothing, stuffing
That sometimes obscures what needs to become clear
So vision is impossible

The ink glistens like the stars
I imagine outside to be shining,
The centre of someone's world

Lying in the grass,
Soaking up moonlight
Assessing the crop of wild oats.

Napoleon needed thought
I need far less of it
For analysis deepens what exists

In the chamber of the spirit I lost
And the will trailing away fast,
The last piece of the butter to melt in the mouth

Before turning rancid.
I'm sure Oliver would have had it,
So too my clients I will never see

Polio, evolved into avian flu
Epidemic evolution
Like what affects us matters

Narcissism takes no prisoners
Just destroys the thread of being
So we are left with fibres of shredded integrity

Beating drums to silence a noisy heart
Gradually filling my consciousness,
Knowledge of response

To situations inexplicable
Revelations inaudible, shunned
It was said, just not known

This table is hard as stone
Though wood still echoes
When pounded repeatedly

And the hinges have not moved.




Poetry by Caila Ihle
Read 390 times
Written on 2006-09-12 at 06:56

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Zachary P. B.
and the hinges have not moved.

try as we may, work as we might... we are one person, and there are so many against us... fighting, killing, raping, as we are dying we cannot right the world ourselves... we cannot even right our world, our little world that concerns us, by ourselves...

it's funny that way.
2006-09-12