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January 8, 2013
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It hurts like my own breath
This masterpiece created
Know I can’t contain it
Can’t restrain those who would wish to break it
I can’t help but my own thoughts
A helpless sliver on a clock
Its fate is locked
Into a dance upon a jagged rock
Fresh shock
Only a speck of time before on the red field emerges
Nothing can discourage
These new thoughts I’m less than worthless
Can I purge this?
Can I destroy it?
Do I even have a choice?
This work of art,
This radiant angel of death without a voice
No, I can’t rejoice
In the destruction of a thing so dear
But to know the fear
Of imminent corruption,
Oh so near, so clear
I am torn beneath the burden
Of impossible decision
I’m the focus of adulation
I’m the subject of derision
I can’t take it
Endless foresight, untold vision
Can I bear to tear apart my soul?
To let the broken pieces roll
Like tears
Across my face
Into a blue and bottomless bowl?
Or can I stand to know the pain,
The suffering,
The endless rain
Of torment on the direct victims
Of that produced by my own brain?
I hate myself
For thoughtless deeds
For final doomed discoveries
My punctured heart, oh how it bleeds
Upon my conscience
All I need
Is to be seen not simply for
My last impossible decision.

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kaitlynisweird said...
Jan. 23, 2013 at 9:40 pm
I actually like it...a lot. That's all I can think of to say.
CammyS said...
Jan. 21, 2013 at 3:21 pm
Wow. Really deep and powerful, made especially more so when I read the Alfred Nobel part in the commentary. I really saw the connections between him and your poem after rading it. Without knowing though, it would not have been clear to me, but it still would have been extremely powerful. Great work!
Geek_Chic124 replied...
Jan. 22, 2013 at 11:38 pm
Thanks! I had wondered if it was vague, but I wanted to maintain the feel of it.
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