The WatchA Poem by A.J.
True, I make my bed with a loners damnation and
cold sheets that never seem to hold heat Though I don’t quite spend my nights alone, at
least not in the sense one would assume
From rasping skeletons strung by neck ties, Pleading
for a place to rest through Morse code and curses To moaning shadows pressing the night, Pleading sanctuary from the Execution lights just like I,
To bleakest memories whispered by marauding sheep
Looking for less remorseful fields to graze Tired of the taste of anger, temptation, lust, and disappointment, seasoned
distastefulness. To those that wait outside in jagged, jaded
endless lines, all gazing towards my door, All gazing from somewhere, something horrible and
not, and more
The first in line was an elder scarecrow, dressed
in his Steeple Sunday best, neck-tie noose and all Rapping, in the words of Edgar Allan, gently
rapping at my chamber door- with “horse thief” sign stapled to his vest
The second was a little old lady in a worn
nightgown, soiled from head to toe from a long journeys filth, just searching; For something or someone she
hopelessly expected. She carried a portrait of Ed Gein in hand; she cherished
that thing
We all, each of us wish to escape this place,
each with our own reasons, all dealt by us, and us alone Even the moon seems to cast his face away, and we
had each once walked the nightwatch vigil
But we know not the tongues of each other, or the
worlds between us, Though maybe perhaps we had once, and strayed away, or are
even ever straying towards the way, for that matter.
What I think we are trying to say, is that
together, for whatever the reason, we are the guardians here We all watch this place, in whatever way, from
whatever place, however strange to say. © 2013 A.J. |
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1 Review Added on July 18, 2013 Last Updated on July 18, 2013 AuthorA.J.Ft. Gibson, OKAboutMy pen name is AJ. As far as writing, I enjoy finding the beauty, the tragedy, the strength and the reality of everything, right down to smallest, seemingly most insignificant details. The world as I .. more..Writing
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