a poem called reaching

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
na.

Submitted: December 02, 2011

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Submitted: December 02, 2011

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rudiments of the day progress like every other

matches burning 1 by 1 so quick

one can lose count &

if the practice is to tally up the path to death

step by step by step

(as if the physical attributes of age will not knock on

the

door daily), then by all means,

kudos---

even so, the pain grows within,

as the human disintegrates

so comes the disease

so comes the long term side-effects of

short term, uncalculated

risk &

the suffering can show its ugly face in little coughs

little headaches that go away with tylenol (at first),

miniscule aches, gurgling in the stomach, itching

seemingly everywhere, hotness bridging on fever,

darkening or reddening of the skin, painful pissing,

an unkind throbbing in the genitals, general fatigue

mixed up in a cocktail of an escalation in sweating,

diarrhea & chills that cause one to

shake like a tambourine at a brazilian folk rock

concert.

 

when it comes, it hits like tyson’s uppercut

sending the innocent reeling

trying to identify the place of inner destruction

falling to one’s knees out of necessity to

keep the spasm at bay as best as one can &

that is when one who says that they hold beliefs in

something outside themselves

cries out---

said individuals will exclaim the names of the

numerous

deities, ghosts, illusions &

really anything else that the mind can be willed to

conjure up---

but the fit continues as

the body envelopes the storm

crashing with lightening & thunder,

waves rising & lowering,

chaos fluctuating at a rapid pace &

still,

no one comes to the aid of the individual &

the room so empty,

offers no solace.

 

reaching for anything that might cease the terror

reaching for something that might stop it all

ready to forsake it all or

sign up to any new ideal that would simply claim to

correct in full

what is presently

pressing

upon

them.

 

 

 


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