Open Fire

a ramble, started off describing writers block, then my bad dream intruded

Hungry air to press me away onto this very page, back against the lies
Choir of black ink turned hostile to spit back at my mind in daydream
Wolves attack my spirit at the gate, it's art block; cannot pass
Jar of lead looking red resting hot in my hand- swears salvation
Demons again bidding me sleep-
           to dream again restless they're bidding me sleep
           however deep the bullet screams
           or empty the gun points at my head
           and, dreaming, wish I were dead instead.

Pulled to life by sun's mean glare
I am awake and he's not there

Of course he's not, he's suicidal!
All that night on open fire..
No gun, no care, and never once did I see him smile.

Author's Note

wasn't sure waht i thought of this one, if it was good enough to submit or not but i did anyway.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I like the internal struggle in the poem. Suicide, gun and struggle. Daily struggle of many in this world. I had to read a few time. This is the kind of poem you will come back to and re-write. Thank you for sharing the excellent poem.
Coyote

[dreaming dame]

Man, writer's block really is tough to get through, eh? I know what it's like, living through dreams that should bring you to a death. He's ther only to you. Yea. Once again, you have written a poem well worth reading. Great write:)