SirRawrsalot
July 4th, 2008, 02:18 AM
poem number 7 on VT:
The Edge Of My Life
An old iron lamp
Hangs by a chain
Boasting an incandescence
Never intended nor conceived
A hundred years ago.
It's black and white light
Grabs the Ceiling
Like a circular centipede-
Twisting forward, creeping back,
Wrestling spirits to a draw.
Outside and down below
The ambiguous eyes of night
Transfix this spot
In non-judgmental stares.
In this moment,
Under red lights warning all away,
Lights cumuli ignore,
I relax at the edge of my life
Grin at the knocking on the door.
I sponge up pleasure from the floor.
It takes courage to suppose
That today is enough.
Verbs and nouns surely interrupt-
Rumble against the walls-
Wilt as lilies wilt
When the wake is over.
Because the smiles are cushioned
In the pillows of the mind
And while the tunes
Are ever sweet.
The very last word
Is the inaudible roar or silence.
The Edge Of My Life
An old iron lamp
Hangs by a chain
Boasting an incandescence
Never intended nor conceived
A hundred years ago.
It's black and white light
Grabs the Ceiling
Like a circular centipede-
Twisting forward, creeping back,
Wrestling spirits to a draw.
Outside and down below
The ambiguous eyes of night
Transfix this spot
In non-judgmental stares.
In this moment,
Under red lights warning all away,
Lights cumuli ignore,
I relax at the edge of my life
Grin at the knocking on the door.
I sponge up pleasure from the floor.
It takes courage to suppose
That today is enough.
Verbs and nouns surely interrupt-
Rumble against the walls-
Wilt as lilies wilt
When the wake is over.
Because the smiles are cushioned
In the pillows of the mind
And while the tunes
Are ever sweet.
The very last word
Is the inaudible roar or silence.