Perhaps it is my folly;
tucking away conscience beneath unswept rubble,
leather bound journals,
and era of forgotten moments that separate abalone clouds
from charcoalβ€”
it verbalizes the shattered mirror
through
which we occasionally catch glimpses of the world;
this moral culpability,
these jaded lips painted fuchsia merely to put up a brave frontβ€”
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
irresistible;
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! πŸ’

Posted for Poetics @ dVerse Poets Pub