LAMPED

LAMPED
PM1302173

The soft whispers of days

gone by haunt me as I sleep

at night and I wonder how

they will ever be able to return

to me as I remember them.

I yearn to feel the existence

of something besides pain and

I don't cover the pain anymore,

it has become so resistant and it

mocks me as I aim to do battle 

with it.

The fronds of palm trees are waved

at me in my dreams yet I do not

feel their cool breeze, it is all

left to my imagination.

No quantity of peeled grapes, figs

or dates can quench my thirst

and the wine bypasses my throat

leaving me dry and parched.

I can no longer talk as

sometimes I fear I will crack

open and fill my esophagus with

blood and drown as I sleep.

The wind owls outside,

so harsh, loud and destructive,

frost accumulates in the cracks of

the walls and will turn to mold

come spring. I am not ready to

meet my maker yet he is

tapping on the window with his 

scythe, or perhaps it is just a

branch from the osier, blowing

in the wind and teasing me that

maybe there is no God.

Once again I fear even the little

children that are dancing in the

streets, maybe it is a war dance or

some other sort of death ritual that

I can't comprehend and I can't understand

if they are coming to me or not but

I must stay vigilant.

Each I see the headlights of

a car bounce across the wall of my

room I know they have come for

me, it can't just be another car passing

in the night, there aren't that many

people working midnights and I

would be so easy to find,

lying in bed watching Peachtree Television

they could see the reflection of the tv screen

in the mirror all the way from the street

below. One solitary bullet would be enough,

right in the centre of the forehead, one last

whimper before the trigger is pulled and

then I am quiet forever.

Where I am sitting now is so calm

and serene, but my mind always flies

away to some far off war zone.

MCC