Two voices
One body
Battling for control
One to live
The other to die
In the arena of the mind
Two voices will enter
Only one will survive
I am not a victim
Of my circumstances
I am a warrior
Losing a battle
Bleeding out
From my wounded soul
I am no martyr
I am merely one
Who will fight
To the death
Even if
It shall be my own
Mortal elation
Lust of loins
Anguish of mind
The poet’s soul
Rips through
The body
A bloody pen
Fashioning a symphony
Of impassioned prose
The poet
A composer of
Profound inspiration
Questions
Everyday questions
With answers
Not to be given
A new day
The same questions
Only death will have
The final
Answer
A call from a long lost friend
Memories and mementos
Being alone and feeling at home
A perfect entrance
A standing ovation
Being loud and proud
That look in one’s eyes
A whispered I love you
Butterfly kisses and first star wishes
Fold me up
And place me
In a pocket
Near your heart
At day’s end
Hold me in
The palm of your hand
Or tears may flow
And I will fall to pieces
Don’t let me down
Offer your hand
Time’s running out
–
Don’t let me down
Open your heart
Time’s running out
–
Don’t let me down
Once is enough
Time’s running out
Appears to be
The epitome
Of laziness
Slouched in a chair
Cannot bear
The weightiness
Bathrobe shroud
Scars unallowed
No visible craziness
One can only see
The epitome
Of laziness
Unguardedly walking
Through the brightly lit forest
The melodic sounds of
Trees blowing in the breeze
Life developing and persisting
She overlooked the darkness
Centered among the light
A mistake never to be undone
For years screaming
Inside and out
Showing signs of neurosis
Now, indisputably dying
In front of their eyes
Sprawled out on the floor
Surely they couldn’t
Overlook her
Again
B.A. Wilcox © 