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Sunday, February 17, 2013

SUBMISSIVE IMAGINATION

SUBMISSIVE IMAGINATION
PM 1302175



The armies of Mordor are on the march,
I can hear the beating of the drums
on the other side of the mountains
and I know it is only a matter 
of time before the arrows reach here
and pierce my heart forever.
What strange manner of beasts and men
have come together, knife to knife,
spears glinting in the moonlight only
to leave me forsaken by the side of the
road?

Only now do I truly fear the reaper
and he laughs at me because
he has been around for a long time
and I could have easily avoided him
much earlier in the saga.
I cringe at the thought of sleep
yet I know the eternal sleep is the
only one left to me, I have shunned
mortal sleep and forgot how
to summon it from the depths.

The sky cannot possibly be this red
and as I look upon it I
recognize each lightning bolt as if
I had manufactured them in some
bizarre eastern factory.

There is much howling going on
and I can only hope that I will be
gone before I am eaten.
I think the horn has sounded
and the battle is heading into 
the final attack, the attack
that will require submission,
and soon afterwards, the end.
No tears left to cry for that,
lots of dismay and regret,
but no interest is evident.

Are those vultures circling high
above me or is it all in my imagination?
I can't tell anymore, I never knew 
the difference between a vulture
and a buzzard, and I don't know
if I have the time to look it up.

They can circle and circle,
high above me, they won't
come down until I am dead.
I must end it with my face to 
the ground so they don't gouge
out my eyeballs first,
nor do I want to see the talons,
swooping in to rip out a shred
of my flesh. I finally understand 
the meaning of
Eyes Wide Shut,
and the fear completes the 
circle around my soul as I try
to run on stumps,
my feet having been sawed off months ago.


MCC


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