Perhaps it is my folly;
tucking away conscience beneath unswept rubble,
leather bound journals,
and era of forgotten moments that separate abalone clouds
it verbalizes the shattered mirror
which we occasionally catch glimpses of the world;
this moral culpability,
these jaded lips painted fuchsia merely to put up a brave front—
I am guilty,
for how else can one explain the incessant thundering of heart?
Pull up a rusty lawn chair,
shake me and take me by the shoulders,
loving someone deeply is equivalent to being tortured;
and now I am lost,
wandering aimlessly around areas of sparse population.
I have always hated it
when authors send characters down the elevator shaft,
these honey-dipped corpses
locked away in a room where even moonbeams cannot hope to reach.
What a waste.
If only I could touch them
savor tempestuous torso before it rises past me like a host of thoughts
I am sorry, did you really think I changed?
Photo credits: Aaron Westerberg “Immersion,”oil on panel
Poem inspired by the title of movie “Confessions of a dangerous mind,” directed by George Clooney.
Lisa hosts at dVerse tonight and asks us to write inspired by the Mussenden folly or folly in general, come join us! 💝
Posted for Poetics @ dVerse Poets Pub