A tapping on a wooden box
under earth of dirt and rocks
my eyes opened to a dream
a dream that I could surely see
to be inside a dream would be
relief of light, let in through beams
yet never meet inside this sleep.
The smell of stagnant vapors fumed
through my nostrils in pursuit
of open spinal columns juice...
were it grew to do, what demons do
when they intrude, infused.
The madness set in rather quickly
for this quirky fellow, as I swiftly
kicked at anything I could.
In response to a certain paranoid,
narcissistic dipstick, who told a tale
of uncovering dirt from boxes, dale
I believe his name was.
He spoke of making coffin plasters,
and how to shovel faster,
with the right equipment, after
several failed attempts, and pathetic
tries at halted laughter.
I hoped his less than amusing story,
though blunt and boring,
would hold a little truth, assuring
me escape from certain doom.
No no no
This is a dream, This is ...
Something beckoned to me,
a slalom calling followed by the time
that's falling, over more than half a day.
Lay still and steady, study your surroundings
surrounding, beings of unusual displeasure.
They were like beast unleashed from first light
to summer night the next year without a feast.
A morsel, no, not a bite to eat. Entranced.
They stand guard. Who's there I cried, but not a peep
The darkness creeps to those who fall asleep,
so not to end an empty fate,
I fight with life to stay awake,
and as I let my eyelids close, the answer finally came.
I am the one that you know well,
the preacher of the flock, the swell,
the poisonous gas that flows through masses,
of foreign formed elastic, seeping into your skin,
through septic passages, from faulty bandage wrappings.
The demon, The one, The invisible.
The simple sinful, illusion of life that hides in the hated
minds of times, greatest designed creations lies. You.
I am the nullified, diluted smoke resin,
that flows into the lungs of the young guns,
to dumb to turn the tongues of the taste,
of polluted sulfur, and fate, in another direction.
I am also their protection.
He half growled and half laughed, demons piss me off.
So to show my intentions I went on the offensive,
in no less hesitation, my direct concentration
went to escaping hatred, through a problematic,
path adjacent to the one that i created, my prolific statement
to the one i clearly hated, precisely timed and stated,
a...F@#$ You. A very clear concise and creative statement.
If you let me out of here I will show you what we can do.
The flock, through the clock, a mockery of time standing still,
so face to face to talk to me, if you will.
Its not my intention to let you live, the demon snarled
and grabbed his beard, confused as to the tactic I used, yet amused
he still tried to subdue, my views, like 22's unloading full clips,
of possessive proverbial pins, through fiery lips and tongue switches,
to auto reactive decisions, to go for the win. I stood.
We are the promise he kept, the leaders of death, we choose what to be
to live through life's luxuries, feeling like fire is fear, cause the
demon that stands here, is a lot less of the threat than the ones that
stand in my head. We are the structure, you build fear, we build
cities, entire nations, at government demonstrations, to end the
suffering of a world, through use of individual nations, take good
notation demon, as the light I pass is glaring, through the eyes of
soldier and child, to stand united against the corrupt and defiant,
militant masses of mutated man-made assassins trying to get my
autograph in blood, is just another attempt to start a flood through
the use of nominal transactions. In mirrors of shadow and smoke, the
hope that we provoke, though sometimes broke and battered, is the
vision of karma that everyone is after. We are linked through time and
space. Shapeless. Faceless. Nameless. We stand as a pack, to attack,
the likes of like-minded foes who disclose, or expose every advantage
and plan, for man to stand firm yet elastic. To stay stationary, yet
bend to the will of other men to fill the spaces, of the darkest
places. Its are creative phases, that allow us to live.
And poof, He was gone.
Had I been dreaming,
not knowing if the real worlds scheming,
to rise awake, my inner being.
While being shaken to the core.
I explored every avenue to see what my mind could deduce, about finding the truth in what i just viewed, But I must have been mistaken. This box's walls are closing in, and there's no bell for me to ring, to signal another being to come for me, no one in the general vicinity will hear me scream, at 6 feet deep, under earth of dirt and rock, just me....and the box.
This poem is about the thoughts, of a man who was buried alive. Your mind will play tricks on you in dark places. When there is nothing else left to do but think. Sometimes the strength and hope you can find in yourself will be just enough to keep you sane, for at least a couple of minutes. I just started typing, and became fixated on this poem. This is my creation, my revelation.
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