Thoughts are Bullets Waiting to be Fired From the Right Gun
A ‘slam’ ish style poem about the sea of thoughts we reside in.
Look around you,
the faces, the bodies, the minds
of the people around you.
Feel their gaze,
their passion, their indifference.
Formless unsung thoughts surround you,
waiting for a mind to grasp onto.
Blank words searching for the right chamber
to be fired from,
flying straight and true,
impacting upon the canvas of self
in splashes of brilliant obscurity
and blinding doubt.
They cascade over a consciousness
stripped of reason and self pity,
a welcoming home of vitriol and benevolence.
They are leeching things,
draining their host of malevolence
with negligent delight,
filling them instead with rampaging agony
tempered by frothing melancholy.
As tenuous as time and fickle as the waves
they crash against a steeled mind
in desperate apathy searching
for a crack in the facade of self.
Look around you,
they swirl and dance and die,
distinct in their vagueness,
ever repeating, ever searching, ever reaching
for what can and will not be.
Look, and you will find them.
©Nicholas B Girard 2020
