Tuesday, February 16, 2010

SURGERY

Some white light pierces
A Soul in twisted agony.
White light hand reaches
Deep within the mire of me.

A searing pain, as it grasps
At inner structures of decay.
Streamy tears as I gasp
At the surgeons ungentle way.

Yet these hands leave no wounds
Only silent scars reminding
How costly is death's merry tune
How painful is the ascending.
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1 comment:

Lost Narnian said...

These poems posted this month so far are all older ones...mostly from my very early 20's...they show a less mature, more innocent individual... often wracked with good old protestant guilt. Feel free to skip any of these if you are looking through. Most of the newer stuff is much more interesting. I thought I'd post them all here just to keep the collection more or less complete. I have more to add that were never typed up...and I may or may not do so in the future.

February 16, 2010 at 5:18 PM

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