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Poetry: fools

Deb - old BW self portrait

 

 

 

 

 

Common sense stared then darted away
Challenging my character’s reason
Running from a tangled-up space
Reality committing truth treason

Brainwaves engaged and ricocheted
Like a pinball game gone awry
Testing the edges of a new day
And the top of an unseen sky

Planets had faded just before dawn
Shooting stars quickly had vanished
Everything here feels much too wrong
Daybreak’s gloom can barely be managed

Curtains flared through an open window
Like the cape of a crazed crusader
Jumping to thwart an imagined foe
Escaping from tired pretenders

Thoughts flowed freely from my face
Racing to a distant point vanishing
Circling the room at a frantic pace
Leaving me questioning my sanity

Cool and unmoving a dangerous grin
Like a mask worn much too tight
Engraved itself on my pale skin
Hiding the fuse behind half-closed eyes

Quiet laughter sliced through the thick air
Firing flares high into the sky
Circuits were firing too fast to care
Even I couldn’t fake all the lies

Defiantly the drone stabbed out a stare
Like a failure facing the truth
Second for second I matched its glare
And was promptly cast from its room

Leaving behind some sorry souls
Torn like pages from an old book
Entering a matrix within my control
Breathing again to take a good look

Alone in the shallows my body found legs
Like a stone gripped between two sticks
Shuffling steps traced out a new maze
And conjured up some old tricks

Uncommon senses came to my aid
Elusive shadows in my corner vision
I could very well just walk away
To never think about this intrusion

Hands shaking hands in formal reaction
Stoned mannequins holding in sighs
It’s a party of a paranormal faction
They are stuck and are no more the wise

Apology stated if not accepted
Intentions cannot be disproved
Carving my way through backhand deception
No one could say it was rude

Fixing a smile and doing my hair
Smoothing my clothes and nodding yes
Time has finally caught up with me here
Alright I’m getting out of this mess

Bits of writing piled high on papers
Reciting answers in a normal way
Gathering speed heading down the stairs
I may have won but I sure didn’t play


© 2014  deb davies thorkelson   |   image: iPhone self-portrait

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