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I have no roots, They were severed By an onslaught of time In the years I’ve bled away, Within a vise-grip of panic
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A timeless enemy Has planted its roots in my skull, Leaving unsettled scores To chase out civility It was born long ago In someone’s bitter cold youth, To be spat out At the first sign of prey It has chased out my worth; The name of my ancestral home With a symphony of crazed bloodhounds
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I caught a ledge, Mid free-fall And an upswell of joy Urged me to fight For a second wind
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My home breaks off into fragments Whenever I race through the door From the rabid snarls of a mob, Hopelessly ill, with their inborn hate
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Boom-bap rescues me, From idle time’s racing chatter As the nation, berates itself It’s a lyrical refuge; A haven, overlooking past struggles That bleed into mine It found me long ago On a quiet back-road As I fled a lost war It will find me again When I have had my fill Of this uphill…
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I lost today in a blaze In a tailspinning fire; Another husk In a scrapyard of ghostly pyres
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It is always too soon or too late To jackknife from this nest And plunge into the tide’s, Rejoicing swell If I leap too soon I will meet the sharp rocks, As a pink and red mist If I spring too late Then the waves, will lose their charms As the cheers of kinship below,…
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The fatal breach in her armor Now crawls with ants, on the prowl For the spoils of war
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Bleary-eyed, “Good morning” is a stray round, Grazing my ear; The pitiless ringing, Follows me to dusk I’m staggering From a reverie that grew too hellish; Staggering, toward midnight’s, Wayside charm
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Originally posted on Raja's Insight: Submitting to independent publishers like Creative Talents Unleashed guarantees your work will remain yours, and we give each writer a fair share of publicity. All the proceeds for our anthologies go into a “starving artist” fund, in order to give new authors a chance at publishing their very own book…
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