Exhale

Exhale.

 

On my tongue,

sandy weakness dissolves.

 

A taste of relief,

like a merciful bullet

to the back of the head

of a rabid animal.

 

Black herd roams

across the glass ceiling

of my perception.

 

Night is the only sanctuary

for a mind filled with shadows.

 

Out of precaution,

before I submit to the sweet

inky tides of oblivion,

I confess any undefined sin

that I may have committed

in the absence of absence.

 

I’d be the first to admit

that, when the sickness peaks,

right and wrong are doppelganger

 twins locked in a Siamese

embrace.

 

My sorry face is tattooed on

the moon.   

Reviews

[Crowley]

I have a penchant for getting in these moods, and the night is not kind to me, my mind running rampant over what I have to do, should have done, or regrets, things that slipped through my fingers even after announcing themselves. This poem exhausts my mind, and your set up is perfect as usual nailing the feelings right on the head. Great work.

[OT]

very nice!! yeah I see the longing for something too - there but just out of reach, like the moon which now projects your sorry face haha lots of images of intangible things - the idea of being unable to grasp - the shadows - the absence of absence etc. great stuff as always!!

[Misty Blue Eyes]

very nice poem

[The Silver Chord]

Powerful in every aspect, you sir, have done it again. Good job bro.

[Apathy To Empathy]

I liked this.
"My sorry face is tattooed on
the moon."
THis was my favorite part, thought the whole poem is well written too.

[MuSe Ampoule]

Awesome...a perspective of final exhale...what wanders through the mind? Forgiveness granted only to those who truly don't see the difference of right and wrong...but to those who ignore...

Contemplative work! Very well done!

[Kerry O'Connor]

Beautiful images spoken in a voice which I hear as wistful, longing for something always out of reach... I love the last lines.