13.1k views, 2xBest Poetry Period. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind. |
I started to roll over dirt — spun, veered, not on accurate course, but true, renegotiated by a rock or two, when horizontally flung in direction seemingly true, slowing near destiny, then seized, clutched. stuck again with lynch pin, a threat to explode? merely tart pineapple than perceived, destructive device, you label, claim fear that none should near. I idle on sacred surface, dreams breaking at core, now mud-embedded on dirt floor, captive hostage, monster. no goal, no aim on a flat, dead plain, oozing beautiful, sour discomfort restrained, but not without a voice direct to clouds descending soothing rain. my aim — survival, a game I win as you refrain, realize the true monster felt no mercy in ignorant apathy, acts my savior if only promise remain detained, don’t careen off desert walls, disturb any or all with perceptive perseverance. I’m not ordinary, neurotypical Neanderthal. I’ll take your locks. go hide before I break, escape as a reckless rock, roll again over your flat, dry terrain. 12.22.20 6.16.22, Revised with addition, edit, formatting from a period when I clearly stopped caring, as I’m prone to do time to time, before reigniting, looking back at lessons learned about giving up — don’t. |