The Restless Poet

The urgency…with which
death turns fury to madness,
overwhelms.

It desperately
tries to strangle
my willingness to survive.

The passion intensifies,
coiling me into a tormented
ball of acrid flames.

I choke
on the dark wilderness
tangled around my feet,

begging me to crawl
through the murky shallows
and submit to the filthy depths surrounding me.

Quiet courage drifts in on
bourbon-smoked winds
carrying the torch with my wounds.

Soaked in midnight soot
from the ashes of the coals,
searing the soul of my existence,

I quell the embers and
stand ground on the
layers of mortal grit.

The winds dance
among the branches of pain that sway
with the anguished memories of my youth,

unfolding the scarred limbs,
as I surrender to the silent screams,
and the shadows are shuddered away.