Friday, March 13, 2009

In the Clutches of Our Crutches

Creativity is dead and gone
upon it leaned my crutch
Not mattered far in falling
so forth, so on, and such
Rely not dry from pen to eye
a moments satisfaction
words my savored sweet release
then why this swift reaction
Restless heart glued come apart
to nothingness in pieces
simple art from broken heart
expressed in ink releases
Hidden deep and swallowed
hollowed echoes come unswept
house of my disorder
from my self allusion kept
Do we see the inner me
when held by holy hands
to the pen rebuke our sin
and bend to our commands
Wretched crutch creative
such as those and such as this
cast into our fiery hearts
for passion's warm abyss
In this heart again to start
a bottomless pit of burning
match into a raging fire
desire consumed returning
Embered flame once used for gain
gained nothing more than penning
against my self my own self crutch
appears I have been sinning
Talent now to self avow
begrudge this heart no more
Certain flows have come to know
the crutch I'm clutching for

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