As I try to catch you
the wind howls and the single
tulip in my garden stashes its lie again.
Maybe you are just rash to guise
your clotted contemplation, hanging in
turn to cat-fall and hydrate.
But, Father, I am left thirsty —
by all means the sum of designing
you when I am left with myself.
Then she got jealous and burned
holes in my arms, shoved cigarettes
up my nose under the kitchen’s
undecided light.
Weren't you a witness?
Were you mired in fog while the
sun tried to run away?
Instead, let’s make this trade:
My insubordination for your existence.
No, that’s all wrong.
It’s best to accept the cremation of
a thousand villains and heroes whose
purpose was to have a purpose,
finding that the cracks in the catacombs
just needed bandaids
to hide what’s inside:
Dust. Just plain dust.
About the Creator
Paul Aaron Domenick
“I am mine. Before I am ever anyone else’s.” --Nayyirah Waheed
“Publication is the auction of the mind of man.” --Emily Dickinson
“Writing is utter solitude, the descent into the cold abyss of oneself.” --Franz Kafka
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Comments (2)
Very dark but inspiring as well
Wowza. This is so loaded with everything. Ozymandius and the pharaohs and the exodus and just wow.