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Gasp: A Poem.
Gasp empty lungs at the setting sun,
Scream deaf hopes and shadows at the sky,
Placed under a capricious thumb,
Soul’s wilderness refuses to quit, lest it die.
I have no shoes or bruise to wear away,
Little to choose over silent refrain,
Shoot a gun from the excuses I pray,
Mugged into thinking there ever was aim.
Breathlessness the thrall of fate’s hoar frost,
Panting as a drunk against the unfeeling bar,
Intoxicating soul sell never imparts the cost,
Yet rolls out a path for the con of near yet far.
The brothers-in-arms of thick and thin,
A warrior class, their code stricken and bare,
Hardy, stoic in the face of their own dread sin,
A dead-end awaits endeavor mon-frere.
Take up arms on the head of a pin, see what bursts,
Lacerate a difference of dust and lace,
Beg for the rain, for the feel, the thirsts,
Fate is denied, choice withheld, on dread’s grace.
Gasp lungs at the bejeweled, coy eclipse,
Glare blind dreams and rapture at the night,
Release pressure on the force that slips,
And hurls edict at existence, marring fight and flight.
© Brad James, 2014.