a manic’s playground is my mind
entrapped within a jungle gym of ludicrous joy
buried deep within the soiled sands of plunging sorrow
an unbalanced act atop the high top
the too quick and slick descent of my sanity upon the slide
the cloying sweet-rancid smell of the tire swing
as i hold tight
sickened-spinning-dizzy from deciphering what’s real what’s not
Wrote this one, after falling asleep with my blinds open, and waking in unmistakable fear with the moon shining full on my face. Was that the cause really? The confused mass of images, an overall sense of suffocation and dread, the pervasive white sheen to the images seen seemed pretty convincing then. My creative concern remains about rhyming structure not stunting a poem’s flow.
From my bedroom window pane
spied I something that
kept me from sleeping sane:
waxed and waned before my eyes
silver dollar gleaming in the sky
sparkled strangely twice than thrice
slanted grain of bitter rice
would lunacy’s luridness entice?
milky blinded wandering eye
with pallid brightness slowly did it cry
shimmering sickle, heavy eyes did pry
sobered dreams calmly defied
relentless rhyme upon my pen
sightless goddess do not seek me again
following with her unblinking gaze
tempting weakened minds with searing craze
do not stalk with me with your lantern white
I plead of slumber hold me tight
twinkle twinkle fickle moon
let me be Madame La Lune.
intotheindigo 