The beating heart;
red with confusion.
The computing brain;
fighting an insurrection.
The stomach a saboteur;
setting all parties to war.
Awake, asleep? Stuck in between.
Flight taken on shaky wings,
the coldness rips at flesh;
dripping an abundance of mixed images,
body a shattered mess.
A chair; an exotic destination.
A bottle; a nuclear pill at the ready.
A hand; wishes not to take it.
Wired awake, bring it on you *******
Quake at the waves of violence.
Jun 21, 2010
Jun 21, 2010 at 2:55 AM UTC
The beating heart;
red with confusion.
The computing brain;
fighting an insurrection.
The stomach a saboteur;
setting all parties to war.
Awake, asleep? Stuck in between.
Flight taken on shaky wings,
the coldness rips at flesh;
dripping an abundance of mixed images,
body a shattered mess.
A chair; an exotic destination.
A bottle; a nuclear pill at the ready.
A hand; wishes not to take it.
Wired awake, bring it on you *******
Quake at the waves of violence.
http://www.robross.ca
(c) Robert W.G. Ross 2010
Request permission to use this poem