For
Pablo Neruda
I spent the first parts of my life jostled by the entropy
left here by the struggle that is man to be man
Stranded by the ignorance of seclusion driven mad by
a relentless earth that gave nothing freely
past a discovery of the immaculate human, and his machine
Love was drawn as a wisp that we do not pray to linger
and the hard cut of the whip, for what was, is
laden uneven I stepped into myself
boldness slept as I watched this from shallows
constantly banging against incongruity and
a modern world jaded and uncaring
Screaming at me at night, these lines that soothe the wanderer
in a land of some truth and admission
Screaming in me, these ways
No one, no one
always in the middle the strength of body and will to vex the world
out of food and a place to sleep and a method in which to survive
taught too well and yet at night
the screaming, I raise my hands to heavens
for my sins, the beast in I
Love was strewn from a point deep within myself
to some eternal eternity where promises were simply lies
scream poet, scream