by

Portentious.

To sleep through its entirety,

this world clinging to me,

to pass up its absurdity,

and flash by in obscurity;

 

A couplet,

a trumpet,

wings ripped from a body;

 

A prophet,

a puppet,

the line thins out steadily;

 

To keep time to the marching feet,

trotting before and after me,

to be ignored and put to sleep,

and pass by flailing blindly;

 

A sunset,

a trinket,

sunk too deep to retrieve;

 

A target,

a portent,

no skin on my knees.

 

 

 

6 thoughts on “Portentious.”

  1. Americana Injustica says:
    December 1, 2016 at 12:18 AM

    Reblogged this on Americana Injustica.

    Like

    Reply
  2. kosmogonic says:
    July 11, 2016 at 3:16 AM

    This is deeply intriguing. In the vein of all great poetry it pulls you in towards what seems like a great secret but then quickly passes you off again into a labyrinth of mystery, allusion, possibility, suggestion, implication, fear, hurt, glory and all that stuff. I love what you do and I hope you know how good you are at it. Wonderful.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

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