Midas

i crawled through puddling rain

on awkward fists and forearms

as blackbirds sat in branch

of tree on hilltop,

unenlightened

under darkened wing

of night.

 

 

and they watched

the misery, observantly

waiting

to triumph,

with the trophy,

 

 

of my demise

 

 

as i called out

from muddling mind

as small as needle eye,

and body, burly,

sinking

into sagging bog

 

 

with hand

outstretched

 

 

to Midas . . .

 

 

and even after touch

and safety

of firm and solid ground

 

 

when birds

had blown away

in warm air of day,

 

 

i still

mispronounced

chasm

 

 

as though

 

 

i was saying

change    

Reviews

[Melati]

This is an amazing piece of art Justin. I trully enjoyed reading this. Well done!

[Jaci]

Excellent write hun. A fitting mispronunciation. Change can be for the better.