by Chris Sorrenti
Sick and tired of ‘sick and tired,’ of a war raging within myself,
I decided to end the partying, in advance of full marriage with my pen.
My lover, Poetry, pointing angrily at her watch, fed up with my inability
to make love on paper.
The party had lasted longer than I expected.
Enough money in booze and dope to feed the homeless of Ottawa
for several years. Not that I wanted to kiss tombstones,
though in fact planting one, killing myself one day at a time,
yet somehow convinced I was the world's best poet.
And once the confetti in my head had cleared, rediscovered brain cells
I hadn't used in years, I found the chemistry again at every corner;
the clean kind, the dirty kind, the somewhere in-between,
all three fighting for my soul, but only one now willing to pay full price.
And it was then that I knelt before a higher power, watching yesterday
slip into the freshly dug grave. Hard to believe, I had changed
my playground, playmates, playthings; finally read the instructions
on the cereal box from so long I had refused to eat.
Those who thought they'd always know me, standing open mouthed
at one clock stopped, another started, and with the first, the ticking of laughter.
The theatres spoke of a ‘Dead Poets Society,’ and some no doubt
would be standing in line, trying better to understand.
How could they though? When I had been studying myself
without success far too long. My bride and I driving off into tomorrow,
leaving only a trail of ink to find us.
620 hits as of July 2020
Author's Note: The closing piece in Along The Vertical Horizon.
Posted on 07/02/2014
Copyright © 2020 Chris Sorrenti
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 07/03/14 at 12:07 PM|
and such fine ink it is, indeed, of which this ode is composed, that leads to the poet and his bride offed to the morrow. there is much here in which to glean, many lessons to gather with which all bards can relate.
|Posted by Coleman Demiurge on 10/29/14 at 02:28 PM|
Very impressive... Poetry, and writing in general, can be a very fickle lover. In my own estimation, it's often more trouble than it's worth... yet I tend to always come back to it, eventually. Anyway, I really enjoyed this piece; it flowed extremely well, which can be difficult with free verse - or at least it is for me. And so many great lines, too; my favorite being: "Not that I wanted to kiss tombstones, though in fact planting one, killing myself one day at a time." Nicely done; excellent work!