Tuesday, January 28, 2014

The Beast That Feeds On Bluebirds

A furious creature 
Lurks, restless and pacing 
Inside a bloody cage,
Stirring only 
When I am still,
Growling only
When I am quiet.

With every gentle touch and whisper
Inciting his rage, 
He claws to breach 
My breast
Through the ribs, forcing
Scorched air 
Up my esophagus;
Though I have tried
In futility
To meet this
Residing beastHe is too quick, 
He rushes to hide 
In the crook of my spine—and waits, 
Waits until I sleep,
To rumble recklessly in my thoughts,
Turning my dreams 
Into ticking clocks.

Sometimes, he disappears
To get away from 
Beating hearts,
The smell of rushing blood
In veins; 
When he leaves, he is replaced
By the heavy blue mint of tranquility
That pours in, filling me up with cool cement,  
Coarse and dense
But he is never gone long
He always returns, 
As certain as a broken promise; 
He loves the taste of my bluebirds too much 
To desire real freedom.



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