13

09 Jun 2010 2 Comments

by Jo Le'Ghard in Poetry

This one is a little different. It’s the usual dark imagery – but unless you look past the words and their meaning you might not see why it is titled as it is.

13

This is not death,
this glacial plain of triviality.
This is the biting ache
of indifference.
What care has the world,
when all things are
for the first.
For this is the one
that never changes.
They’re for themselves
for no one else.
They claw and bite
for them alone.

This is not the quiet bliss
this promised paradise.
This is the stentorian traffic
of perdition.
You are cut, and tortured
by the demons of
your own life.
For you have created them
giving them life.
Assigning the souls
they will chase
to devour and heave
to the depths.

This is not how you should be
This narrow mind.
This is the incarnation
of your fears.
It is you who has created
these evils
it is you who carries them out.
For you are the pietist
the wrong-doer.
But you will tell me
that I am the wrong
I am the evil.
I am your image of hell.

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