Mister Z
Splintered shivs of the mirror, life
Memory strains my true visage
Broken in jagged, shadowy grimaces
Once ... smiles, joyous
Oh, immortality has many faces
But none of them can shape expression
Or imitate the innocence of a child
Blue, is a vein when wrapped in flesh
Yet all that flows within is warm crimson
So why should I think that what looks back at me
Is anything but a parody of prescience?
Why should I believe that the world laughs with inclusion,
Instead of with mocking, vile hilarity?
With every exhalation ...
I push out poisons onto the breeze
Yet it is the same unseen element that gives me life
So why should I believe that you are true
Simply because you profess it?
My feet greet floor each morning
Yet I am cold ... as carrion.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Standard Number 100, Any Form Or None" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor.
|