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Ism

by John Herzog

No leeway to shift my feet on this mile-high pillar,
this macabre landscape just can't help but seem
like it was molded from some twisted artist's dream,
yet a smile is painted over my face each day,
even while the colors continually chip and decay
as wind gusts wear the pillar away.

What proper mind would lure me here?
Who?
Was it I?
Did they expect me to learn how to fly?
Is there any earth left below?
And just how long am I willing to go?

Like an old statue,
I've become part of this rock,
one with unfaltering tenacity
that the world long forgot
as my smile plastered each day
persists through far worse than rain

Many may prefer my pillar crumble,
collapse down from on high
and yet it stands still,
and I'm yet to know why.
When the land rumbles,
I should stumble,
falling like a tear of the sky,
and yet I stand still,
and I'm yet to know why.

08/31/2008

Posted on 12/30/2008
Copyright © 2020 John Herzog

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 12/30/08 at 10:56 PM

Fascinating work. Good stuff.

Posted by Joe Cramer on 12/31/08 at 05:48 PM

... well done... welcome to Pathetic!

Posted by A. Reed on 09/23/11 at 06:27 PM

Wonderous indeed.

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