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Ideation


I would extend a hand,
but you would pull me under.
Drown with you.
Die with you.
Take me to deep places
and make me measure hours
by the ticking of a doomsday clock:
End of time.
Out of rhyme.
Oh we are in a state, my friend.

Race to the bottom.
Race against time.
Patrons, a host of demons
who spread a bitter feast
where we dine upon delusion
and nibble tender mercies
salted with madness.

Fight your way out.
Fly away home,
but mud still clings to your wings,
pulling you back. 
We can't all get out alive.

Now I spend my days
under a cloud of I know why.
But still I understand,
and I say with all humility:
I have not sinned.

There can be no rescue
for those who wish to drown.

This was written for The Sunday Whirl and Sunday Scribblings 2.

7 comments:

vivinfrance said...

Wow! A horror story in a poem. Bravo.

February 1, 2015 at 1:45 AM
Jae Rose said...

This in somehow echoes the comment you so wisely wrote on my page...it also made me think of Wings of Desire...maybe we are all fallen angels...but some of us choose to walk on..find a different way.. not wish away our time hoping for our wings back.

February 1, 2015 at 3:30 AM
Old Egg said...

The beauty of this advice is that you make it yourself. How often we hear "I shouldn't have listened to..." If only more of us would use our own survival instincts.

February 1, 2015 at 4:40 AM
Magical Mystical Teacher said...

Your final two lines are a hard-hitting truth.

Pilgrims Awhirl

February 1, 2015 at 9:36 AM
C.C. said...

This is exquisitely profound and written with such an authentic voice. I love it. The last two lines are Truth with a capital "T" and so very important to remember, lest we drown too. Brilliantly written.

February 1, 2015 at 9:07 PM
Marilyn B said...

You state this quite correctly!

February 2, 2015 at 4:48 AM
Alice Audrey said...

It's mostly a question of getting away fast enough.

February 2, 2015 at 3:52 PM