I am reeling
And wallowing inside
Displaced, from a safe patch of ground

Or I’m purposely unbound
With a great fear of rotting
As a rust-cradled ship
On the shores of death

Perhaps I foam
And I reek of peril
As the bombs fall in mind
A whistle, then a crash
Then fire, then dust

Or perhaps
I am fully composed
And clothed in pretension
With smugness and pride

Or perhaps it’s a dream
But a blistering relief
That showers the frantic
And frees the dismayed
From their shackles of sleep


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s