By Chris Grundy
The ocean of life, enriched,
Then drained. I wish I could have..
My life, full of unfinished ventures.
I never explored the wonderland,
Through the fog of my confusion and
Ended up smiling in the mirror.
The only true friend shimmering back,
He twinkles from my heart,
Into the lucid environment of the languid.
Where’s my ambition? I ask.
In the hands of the sacrificial lamb,
Reflecting out of windows. Unhappy
With myself. Falling apart; my bone
And flesh. Mentally mercurial. There
Is no point, I find as
Shakespeare wags a knowing finger.
The mighty hawk, reduced,
Now, to austerity plus the
fear of the posterity as it
Struggles, wheezes because the stairs
Are too exhausting. The opaque
Elevator fails to work under
These Conditions. Bing: “next floor demise”.
I can run, free as far as I can figure,
With the streaming winds, breathing
New life into the bingo wings of my soul,
Crashing into darkness, drinking
A coke and a knowing grimace
Welded onto the contours of my face.