poetry critical

online poetry workshop

Nine Lives

The city lights streak in neon blurs,
Gazing out the window—my forehead
Gathers sweat from a broken fan
I may never break these cuffs of poverty,
This cycle,
Sees only sorrow it seems for some
But my gaze—
I see this immaculate weight of freedom
Crushing the fetters of food stamps and cold
It’s the raw intangible strength
Quite simply,
A tearful appreciation of that great kindness,
Now pulsing through my veins as the very blood of Christ
Flows through me now a canonized saint of the living
Now more alive than any before,
I keep my communion for long lonesome nights
When I call that great love down inside my chest
And wrap up in myself—the ecstatic touch of my own skin
The closest to heaven I’ll ever be
Is strung out in a shady studio where prayers still cannot escape
The leaking ceiling, only gathering in buckets strewn about the floor
It is not all death and suffering,
I live—for a while
In heaven’s hoax I revel in this voluptuous veil
A mask,
Worn only when the tides of fate turn against this vessel
Left out to drown.
But such a death I embrace every night as I asphyxiate,
Chocking on weight and matter too grand to comprehend
With glassy eyes and heartache, not on this night—
Tonight I’ll take the short run of things
And leave my hollow prayers to fill more buckets

24 Jul 08

Rated 10 (10) by 1 users.
Active (1):
Inactive (1): 10, 10

(define the words in this poem)
(18 more poems by this author)

(1 user considers this poem a favorite)

Add A Comment:
Enter the following text to post as unknown: captcha


the city, gazing, gathers -- i may too, but my gaze crushes grace -- a tearful communion, closest to heaven, and it's not all death and suffering: in heaven's hoax, i embrace the choking night, asphyxiate the heartache and thousand natural shocks that flesh heir too! in this regard, our spirits turn away and fill more hollow buckets, deep... and miles to go before i sleep, cause, death be not proud.
 — joey

hmm, nine, er nice poem.
: )
 — fractalcore