If immortality is granted
that shall be the day I die.

For if living has no finish line,
why must I run at all?

Emptiness has built a home I inhabit trapped inside my shell
If I remain here at least I'll make it look a little less like Hell
My thoughts form with cohesive structure
Dancing with clumsy pictures that slice and puncture
Do the words I am saying make any sense?
Or are they just ramblings of a mind depressed?
Closing in towards the end of strength and will
The finish line seems further still
No one near cheering me on
As I stumble this one-man marathon

The Devil himself

…..he read that online
mine poetry about poverty
that poverty was about
the grammar mistakes in many poems

the stupidity started chasing me
declared instantly me-moi as his enemy
his words, so absurd
a lunatic so terrific

I thought he could read poetry
but….I was mistaken....

my beloved one never knew
the alienating appearance of this blind male

I wrote about true poetry and its poverty
he associated with politics and its tactics

I thought he could read poetry
but….I was mistaken....

thought he ran the marathon
but....I was mistaken,

he was chasing me constantly,

God said to me: " Have never fear, Sylvia
I am with you all the time"

all my fears disappeared instantly

from far I heard the thunder
and I saw the brightest lightning
a man fell down shouting for help

on my way, I passed his burnt body
terrible smell of burnt blood
Hey! That was the one who was constantly chasing me
The devil himself with his poker face

Thank you, dear Lord,
you have helped me in Your Time....

that resonates with mine,
oh Lord, You are sublimest!


© Sylvia Frances Chan