Words Keep on Flying Past

Words fly past

Informing me

That poetry they shall be

If only I can hear the silent flapping rhythms

Lure them to my pen

Capture and release

Those fleeting impressions

Moody angels circling within

Stratospheric

Interplanetary heaven

Angels times seven

 

This week has been taken over by

Demons devils imps

All playing with my fragile sense of self

Pulling the rug out from beneath my happy feet

It’s hard to feel complete

When your very thoughts are constantly stolen

By satanic yodelling anxiety beasts

Ululating a deafening dirge

My sense of me is dying

A quiet suffocation

Under pox-ridden blankets

Of stress

And doubt

 

Swimming through blackened tides eyes shut

I sense the winged beings above

Knowing we’ll never meet

I knock as if to greet

Upon a window

Double-glazed

No one hears sees cares

As the water rises

And I drown

In expectations

Under glass

 

Words just keep on flying past

 

Copyright May 2013

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6 thoughts on “Words Keep on Flying Past

  1. May you float above expectations and be yourself. In the place of true being, the words will be (and already are, by the look of things). 🙂

  2. words may fly past but obviously some good ones landed…”my sense of me is dying, a quiet suffocation” great description… Poetry always shall be even in the blackest times…great write! 🙂

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