Conflict/ChaosA Poem by Michael G. Smithspewing thoughtsConflict is my very breath When peace begins Then slow is death Existing over life wins
And beauty isn’t Truly within the flowers But, it’s the image in The deepest darkened hours
Love is it real In a hot desert wind When she blows hard Against my gentle skin
Merely, as it did In the heart of winter Over and over again In seasons of apparitions
Chaos is the tormentor Slicing this man thin Contentment its contender Holding me up at rounds end
One day without tastes Of inner bloody or tearful situations Turns the night into Ends instead of continuations
I try and connect Like the monkeys in the barrel did Retrieve the static Find the missing electricity
As I participate Parrying along within the battle Superficial wounds I willingly take All scars hidden behind my shield
And I imagine the flower And the field Feel the hot desert ache Lopping off heads with surgical steel © 2015 Michael G. SmithReviews
|
StatsAuthor
|