Tuesday, August 16, 2022: Theresa C. Gaynord's poem "Frailty’s Baggage~Channeling Jim Morrison"

 

There is no grief in language

when you’re stricken, cast down,

changes silhouette past silence

pausing sullenly through the

echoing corridors of my mind.

Torn posters without poetry,

without song, without love,

face hopes and fears in the mirrors

of pain; and his sex hangs unhidden,

and his metal heart sweeps through

abandoned philosophy as the curtain

closes on the sensual train.

I want repetition of song, recollection

in truth; to create from the oblique,

denying the erotic, an obeisance to

the power it steals from those of us

who can’t find anything to live for,

but everything to die for. Cast not your

demons of treachery, tears, anger, and

betrayal on me; the elevator is rising.

There’s fumbled endorphins offered

up as a cocktail with some really good

whiskey and meth cocaine. Smell the

lily and the rose,

let the bricks soften to deep greens,

let God speak austere though vacant

fields while you grow stillborn

through drugs so sweet. Let the

suicide take on it’s own craft and magic,

as daylight comes and a stranger’s face

brings forgiveness; blooming, blooming,

in the scent of your sweet blood. Your rib

is gone, son of Adam and He shall

have her heart; lowered lids expand as

they rise in total annihilation. Tick tock.

White roses growing in the corner,

lilies dead on the sidewalk.

© 2022 Theresa C. Gaynord

Theresa C. Gaynord is a former elementary school teacher turned writer/published author. Her two horror narrative poetry collections are available on Amazon, The Spiritist and Rum Runners and Pirate Saints-Claria-The Birth of the Demon Fish.