If only I could rest my pallid pen
and warm the edges of frazzled bones.
I try to stay awake,
resisting the urge to shut my abraded eyes,
until imbued words flow freely
through these perforated veins.
A sorcerer beckons me closer,
but I fear the lure of imminent danger
and run towards the light.
Do the words that float from your brain
detour past the heart?
Does the callous wind swallow your pride
and puncture your gut?
When all the world is running from the fire,
are you the one who sparked the flame,
until there’s nothing left to burn?
I am forever lost and found.
Never satiated with feasting
on the poetry
of illicit, inspired madness.
© Connie Song 2021. All Rights Reserved.
Grace notes: special thanks to Scrittura publication, an eternal source of creativity and inspiration.
