Deadman

Fire-fight
Desperado;
Bullet
Holes enrich my soul.

Hoisted of my own petard;
I’ve paid pride’s petty toll.
A penny from my pocket
and gold watch; intaglio.
Now the pride of soul is gone
and so's the time - all gold.

The duster at my back that weaves
the confines of a mind -
is ripping back within the wind
as light through hole does shine.

This body, me, museum of bone
is soaked with blood to boot;
Dripping scars
and tears
and burns
Infused with noxious soot.

Adrenaline is pumping. Adrenaline comes fast.
But the drug, of own burnt blood,
leaves me worn, and fast.
The body becomes fragile.
These thoughts becomes petite.
I only guess how long I’ll stand
on flat, bruised, tired, feet.


So lay me down to river.
And lay me down to lie.
Lay me down to soak my soles,
And lay me down to cry.

Powder my hair with chalk-dust;
Stick tobacco in my sleeves.
Oil my skin, ambrosia gilt,
then feast upon my beeves.

But that’s all just indulgence.
I can’t rest, no - not yet.
I’ve far too much to prove and lose
And far too much at bet.
The stakes are never higher;
The stilletto’s not yet beget.

So, no matter dark and dampening eyes;
The spattering ichor of life still lies
and thought it feels but I’m but bound to sigh
 - I’ll still paint all life’s Vignettes.
And thought it feels but I’m but bound to sigh
 - I’ll still paint all life’s Vignettes.

Do you know my poetry?
What’s a pauper with no purpose,
or a slave without a shackle?
I intend to live,
for now,
Even if it all
accumulates
down
to
pain.

Author's Note

Life hasn't been very easy for me.

Please enjoy!

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

"I can’t rest, no - not yet.
I’ve far too much to prove and lose"
This is great poetry. You open the door to thoughts and questions. Life is easy for the few. Most of us must swim in the s**t and try to make sense of life. Poetry is peace for me. Allowed me to free pain and thoughts. Thank you for the outstanding poetry.
Coyote