Withered Keeper of the Past, Won't You Let Me In?

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Poem about the past, memories that were actually mine, almost a conversation between myself now and myself a few years ago.

Submitted: May 09, 2007

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Submitted: May 09, 2007

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The ancient shepherd, the hallowed choir

A decision, a turn, a piece of bone in the skin.

Father won’t you guide me,

Shake me from the shoulders down,

I’ve lost my way, we’ve lost our way,

And where is faith, this time around?

 

A mug of clay, born of red petals,

The great poets, drowning at sea,

A game lost to Who Knows, a gospel

From clouds golden and distant,

Visible, but forever, and ever, and ever,

Out of reach.

 

A song in a language foreign and unreal,

A memory dancing with pin point infant feet,

A deck of emotions, none for the taking,

A story read quietly, humbling and sobering,

“Killing me softly,” with silent words.

 

A fruit with no stem, the lovechild of

Your word and your money,

The momentum running thin,

The fingers lethargic and dry,

The end belligerent and self-satisfying.

 

Wake up, you’re being selfish.

I am not willing to dissolve,

Strength is inherent, coherent,

Incoherent-spit.

Clipped and restricted, cushioned

By luxuriant memories,

Sweetened with want

Poisoned with need

Irresistible to all but none.

 

The apple is too red

This time, the peach too sweet,

The gracious golden lantern stripped away

Raped away into shreds and small fires,

Scraps not even whole in the dancing feet

Of a pin point infant.

What happened to safety,

What happened to unreality,

What happened back then?

 

Without a past, a man has no present

Without a future, a man is no man.

Without a present, a man is where I was,

Two and a half years ago, sleeping near,

Warm but awkward, safe but growing,

Lost, yet found, with present, where I was

For a year and half, lost and yet found.

Cracked, but perfect.


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