Heaven's Bridge

I wrote this in high school, when I was just getting the gist of poetry.

 

Muddled memories

from troubled nostalgia

seem to seep so

deeply into my

celestial nightscapes

of dreams

that are cast across mine

sleeping eyes.

Heaven appears a handhold

away until I grasp unwittingly

at arbitrary, empty atmosphere

and tumble towards

an unforgiving earth,

ostensibly overwhelmed by

the crises of its beings

that walk and fade;

grim shadows that they

aspire to be.

This tunnel’s lackluster

light of entrance

flittingly flickers,

and my staircase swoons

at its gaping mouth that

swallowed the absent step,

stealing my escape,

falling me into a pit of pining

limbs and fingers which grip

and grind against my flesh,

yearning for life which was

yesterday, sinfully stolen by saturnine souls

and exploited daily by routine,

numbered unjustly

by names.

Still, I beg my bitter birthing gods

to take back their wretched essence

and let mine ascend free

from evil animosity.

But I am only rid of my regret,

and repent

when the quadrilateral clay comportment

cut heavily into my middle

is sliced and sucked out,

and my neck is pierced with pores

so the beast can breathe.

My burdens barrel high

into a baffled sky,

shocked at my carelessness

when I fall dangerously

to my death,

disgracèd.