The Casket’s Paisley Lining

Today was a bad day.

Old Blackness wrapped snug

around my thoughts

and pulled me under

‘neath a lamentation

of the things that were,

and those pieces of me

in need of mending.

For two plus ten years,

the memory haunts

and lingers.

Each time, to the wave

I surrender… and fall under.

Current events, notwithstanding,

I feel like I can achieve,

beyond the demanding

persistence of the Hypnotic

Poison,

of which the casket smelled.

Broken to pieces by this thing,

unset bones have mended.

Some new shape and form,

a mass of scars,

the regular ruminator,

shambles along.

The 18th day of May, ’05,

crushed my heart and drive,

to live again, for so long.

I often wonder aloud,

whether the last 12 years,

often stained with tears,

were a waste of my life.

What choice do I have?

What recourse is left?

Of course, I fight.

With words, I fight,

To finally express these things

and describe the casket’s

paisley lining

and what it meant to me.

That piece is forever gone.

Some unattached hinge,

squeaking and broken.

Yet, on this black day,

I learned.

I now have the map

to find

my mind’s flickering zoetrope.

I’ll stop its ceaseless spinning,

and rewind.


© All rights reserved, 2017.

Blogging Poetry

Obol View All →

Obol is a poet and an infrequent writer of prose.

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