Notes to Doomsday

You won’t want to run. And the gloom of it
Bites at you. There, in shadow, lie in wait

the ones without the thing, the Flickering,

the torch you bear, you: the shade, frail, afraid.

And they see you and scrabble for this thing,

to gobble it gone and give ruin to the revenant,

the collapsed carapace skittering on concrete.

In rage, they’d claw and crush the final tenement.

 

So run. Back upon the wounded ghost ways
Of past haunts and arabesque alleys. Hide.
Or try. Find the flights where other somethings
ate and slept and sang inconsequential lullabies.

 

See the scrawled-up post-it notes, signs
of a love that danced among us. And shiver.

And sigh. But run. With dirt in your toenails

And fog in your hair and gall in your liver.

 

And remember your wrinkled skin, how once

There might have been more than blood in it.

Or how it was made: more than frail and flesh,

And life screamed from your bones and spit.

 

Remember and don’t forget, and you won’t

Stop. Because your legs will know and your knees

Will feel. And what’s inside will wake and burn

And spill across your spine and brain and teeth.

 

And then you turn the corner and the words

Dead and End mean more than they ever did:
Then you feel that you are food, and what's not
Will be and burn again and nothing will be hid.

Author's Note

I'm looking for criticism. Kind words are always nice, but tough words are sometimes nicer.

Reviews

[kmartell]

a darkness here. is this poem an older poem? your recent ones have a different feel. i like this though, the over all message is in it. however i was looking for the places you "stop" in the poem and hit the reader with a quick metaphor more like in the other poems of yours i read. don't take me wrong. i feel like i have discovered a very good writer in what you say, your choices as well of subject matter. you are quite good. anyways, thanks for letting me read them, kmartell

[Bree Potter]

Heh, it's actually one of my newer ones. I'm so glad you caught on to the lack of metaphor, though. That was part of what I was going for here, as it's supposed to be a very material poem (I don't know how successful that was, though!).

And once more, thanks so much for your reviews. And thanks for reading, kmartell.

[Sami Khalil]

A splendid read and write...Thank you for penning...:).................

[Bree Potter]

And thank you for reading--and your kind words, too.

[Sami Khalil]

You are welcome...:)..............

[V. P. Trujillo]

This was done well, and it's interesting. As much as one could look at anything and criticize, so too can they Love. I have blue, you have green, what's yellow then? Red?

Hah, forgive me. Keep writing on here, that is all.

[Bree Potter]

Well, thank you. And while I agree to disagree with your first statement, I most definitely do agree that the best thing anybody can do is to keep on writing! It's very good advice.

[Christyn Jeffries]

I like it. I can't tell whether it is a metaphor about death or about literally running from a monster, but I like the rhythm of it, the way you mixed very short sentences with long ones.

[Bree Potter]

Thanks. Rhythm is very important to me (I guess that explains my love for poetry?), so I'm glad it stands out in this one.