19 February 2009


The sickening, sleazy slime of decades past
a life I eliminated from my daily agenda
Journey back to where the book was open
and everything was up in the air

A beating of dark wings
outstretched beyond the landscape of my ideal imagination
a bile so villainous
I can’t abide to carry the concept of it existing
longer than a nanosecond.

The case was closed;
said-chest of poisonous deceit
drowned in the depths of self preservation
The page was turned;
the candle extinguished
to protect the eyes of the innocent.

Still, I pause here
on this dusty trail of what I’ve been doing
to look behind me and see
it’s followed me home
like a stray dog with mange.

Undead, unbarred.
Sunken red eyes to demonstrate
A hundred pounds of wasted skin
Mottled judgment or askew irony...

Fate is not always what we make it.


Donna Marino said...

Your last line says it all. Fate is often chosen for us by mindless fools. Great write.

Shadows said...

Thank you so much for the kind words.