spirit

slipping into death.
warm clutch of boney fingers.
one last gulp of air.

the madness abounds.
sane man in an asylum.
cuckoo clock strikes twice.

you wobbled over to me.
but you didn’t topple.

i saw this once
when you were young.
when you were walking
the first time.

you wobbled but
you weren’t toppled.

you’re a brave soldier
now like you were
a brave soldier then.

to uproot.
to dislodge wisdom.
to take away what has
been given.

is this wise?

what father puts
his son to this test.
i am not abraham.

i am not a vessel
of god’s work.

from my lips to god’s ears.
the cat had his tongue.
his muted response
arrows through my heart.

a piece of flesh
some ivory
now

for a better future.

a dowry paid with your
own blood and sinew.
wedded to a bright
future?

that was the promise.

and if promises were currency
i’d be rich.

questions remain.
was the sacrifice
sufficient?

will it be the end
of suffering.

can we not do better?

can we not do good
without performing ill?

could we honor
hippocrates.

might we never do harm
in order to bring health?

i fear we might be
looked upon by future
offspring.

seen for the barbarians
the butchers we are.

but hard choices are
not kind
not comfortable.

they don’t wear easy
like worn shoes.

the burr gnaws
and grates
and agitates
and we do what we hope is
right.

kindness is always right.

but cruelty
can it
sometimes
be kind?

i beg forgiveness
i ask for understanding
i seek compassion

solace for my soul.

a balm for my bruised
heart.

you wobbled when you
walked towards me.

like you did 15
years ago.

but you didn’t topple
then and you wouldn’t be
toppled now.

my beautiful brave boy
my wounded soldier
what is this war
i have volunteered you for?

have i done right by you?
i have tried to do right by you.

hard choices
they tie my mind in knots
a tangled web of synapses

a maze of untying regrets.

the tongue
is like a pink slippery serpent.

it coils in the
warm wet bed of my mouth.

ready to strike.

ready for a
tongue lashing.

these words that
drop from my mind
into my lungs.

coughed up
tumbling up my throat
landing on the soft carpet
of my raspy tongue.

coddled and folded
into the pink divots
and creases.

fondled and caressed
before being spat
out like phlegm.

these words.
these muses that
throw darts at my mind.
throttle my synapses
’till they bleed thoughts.

dark, oily thoughts
black as night.

sharp as death’s scythe.

they cut me all the way
down into my belly where
they fester with bile.
before being expelled
as hot air
vitriolic acidic words.

the pen is mightier
than the sword.

but the tongue
a piercing lance
is demonic king of them all.

from the chords
that twang of misery
and of love.

like an untuned violin.

my vocal unction
is sometimes slimy
and oily.

sometimes dry and
cutting but always
lacking
the clothes these
words should wear.

I send them out naked
into the world as goblins.

my bastard children derided
and chided.
but masters of my making.

these words that fly
like slings and arrows
and birds of a feather.

plucked from my heart
and from my mind.

yet so much is lost
in translation.
from my mind’s eye
to my split tongue
to your ears.

is god listening.

or has the hot loud
acrid voices deafened
him to our pleas.

the devil may care
but it is he who has
got my tongue.

the cat knows how lucky
the muted mouse is.

my home, this mind is a
calamitous house.
a raucous cacophony of
chatter from these mad hatters

a wonderland of fumbling
words and muddled thoughts.

my kingdom for a grave
a quiet knave to slaughter
the noise.

a deafening silence.

murky brown waters.
scents of cocoa and mint leaves.
healthy elixir.

push the boulder up.
sands of time slipping me down.
atlas stop shrugging.