Vagrant

“Vagrant”

-J.H. Byrd-

 

In the shadows, the wretched stretch out stealthy fingers,

writhing in agony of loathing ever lingering,

folding menacingly over knuckles bone-barring,

with snarls slipping over garish jaws and fiendish lips.

 

I can hear their sneers in the shadows,

looming large, the colossus of our times.

Vain to espy such sources of snark barking

is to turn the sun on a convent of cockroaches.

 

Vendors peddle their wares and call their followers

who have not seen the sun nor trees since their births,

who have never heard their mother’s voice,

nor ever uttered a free word or a whisper.

Through torture and abuse, a lesser form of their masters.

 

I walk these cobblestone streets seeking shelter from the storm ever brewing.

Consciousness dwells on the mark on my hand

and no shelter given in this harsh and barren land.

No fruit is grown here. Nothing is grown here.

The vendors peddle wares stolen or borrowed from distant realms,

rebranding them for their own demonic purposes.

 

I clutch perilously to my own nourishing treasures,

kept hidden for fear of discovery;

leaves of wisdom long forsaken, Prometheus’ Curse.

If discovered, I too would be strapped to a boulder

for the fiendish to gorge on my entrails.

I bare the mark of lesser punishment,

the course of my demise.

A permanent mark, one of the outcasts, one of the free.

Aidless I have travelled far seeking shelter with my brethren;

dejected and demonized.

 

The storm draws nearer; the sand swallows up the horizon.

The demons abandon their curses and strip apart their wares,

dispersing their band of sharp fanged followers,

contriving their evenings carnal contraptions of confiscated calamities,

coursing curses that are converted to clandestine covenants of citizenship,

clawing covetously, cowering before the storm.

 

The fury extinguishes the light.

The storm closes in.

I shall not last the night.

Reviews

[barleygirl]

Okay, I was loving everything about your poem until I got to the penultimate verse where your "c" alliteration went orbital! I can't decide whether to love or hate that part, but I definitely love all the rest of your poem. I've been trying to get my head around some Halloween writing . . . it's time . . . and reading this helps immerse me in the most delicious gory imagery, along with a lively imaginative storyline all well-balanced to give a demonic treat . . . "snark barking"! . . . "convent of cockroaches"! Too many highly inventive image-packed phrases! Love this for kicking off the spooky season! (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie