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 Red Fog by Curtis M. Joseph Voices of the streets echoes my name. Lights of the post are the silent eyes that watch over me. Coldness of the air blankets me in suffocation to breathe. The moon in the sky remains as a harlot that teases me for the night. Mist of my blindness. You cascade me with your blanket of confusion. I wander dumbly in your arms. You make me a vagrant of my purpose. Stillness will not remain in me for a quarrel with your belligerent means to keep me tarry. By my step forward, I step no closer to you. For you take a hundred steps ahead of me, to connive my understanding of now. The hand that covers my eyes is that of my will. You whisper in tongues that Mother Nature would only grant me permission, if I am worthy to hear. The light of the post I can see, stillness comes within me. Still my mind. Echoes all around within the blanket of my ignorance. Pale am I; lucid is my appetite to see. You make me the dweller of this confine. The breath of air that I breathe, is the sip of reality that is from the wine of the blanket. Fall to my knees I will not, to the appetite that makes me quiver like the leaves off a tree at full moon. Fall I will not, to the hand that makes me a puppet of your stage. I say to you nothing for silence is your ally and I am, but a strange to be introduced to it's party. The sip that I take of the air will be my undoing, for I have created this reality. The breath of appetite. The breath of hunger. Breath of my sins, sleeping lamb.
Copyright © 2002 Curtis M. Joseph, sffworld.com. All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the author. The author has submitted the work in accordance with and in agreement with the following Submission Guidelines |
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