Nature Calls

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem by Arthour Lewis
*Infartar (Line 17) means to strip bare

Submitted: June 07, 2016

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Submitted: June 07, 2016

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Nature Calls

 

Three men lay woke aside the parking lot;

Speaking of plans to pull the world so taut

That fi’re couldn’t cure them of their sins.
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Nights whimpered in silent fear of what might become of them.
War slithered in, with sinister intent, speaking in eager whispers
In the ears of looming shadows that wept dry tears for sunlight.


Murmurs of discontent sprinted throughout: your home; your clique; your self.
Inching further for anger, blindness swept beneath your skull and latched into you,
Your sins are not your own.
Luring you further with malicious speak shrouded by a veiled innocence:
Hysteria lit the path with shadowed light from an envious lantern.

Cheered on by coats of tainted wool, and assailed by coats of tainted challis
You become conflicted.
What now?

Leering from platted comfortability, shadows hiss at you to march;
Indeed, you do, in fact, with many hesitations, and many trepidations,
But indeed, you do.

March

Splintered bones sizzle under a foreign star,
Trickles of sweat blister, embroider, infartar your brow.
Misguiding you moreso than pockets pretensely avowed
Like schoolgirls hand-in-hand, capped-‘n-gowned.
Smothered words nested in fear choked on bravado…

Bravo, Bravo!
The term is done!

Wormwood parties in your pit,
Your feather withers at the sun,
Enthralled in fear and shadow’s shit,
Your blindness turns to deaf’d the young.


© Copyright 2018 Arthour Lewis. All rights reserved.

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