#102 Overwhelmed

courtesy: middlewaysociety.org

He sat with his legs cris-crossed

Flesh hurting

From the ache of sitting

For so long on the uneven, bumpy surface

Of the verandah.

He was connected only

To the feeling of falling continuously

Within himself

Panic collapsing like lightning

Flickering idly across the

Expanse of the African tundra.

He could feel the pulse in his

Neck pound into his ears

More deafening

Than the sound of unannounced thunder

---

But you could never tell

As you crossed the street

Just in front

Of his small wooden

House

All they saw

Was Old Man Kane

In a meditative state

As was the norm before

beginning his morning yoga. 

My Inspiration: Façades

 

© KohylahPiper 2016

#91 Dirty Hands

courtesy: pinterest.com

You got dirt on your hands...

most folks don't know

since you've washed

them clean as you can

scrubbed out of habit

but the stains stare back at you

wherever you go;

You become agitated

when the discerning sense

the reckless diatribe

tied up into your

malevolent spirit;

horns hiding behind

that charming smile.

Gotta keep watching your back

'cause that eye in your head

had closed so long ago

it had rendered you defenseless

and you're caving in

hiding behind what you thought

you had known...

Passing on drudgery

to the next generation

unknowing to their cares

they'll suffer because

the streams

of your unleashed poison

have culminated in their rancid tears

they'll call it unfortunate

unlucky

even a hard break

not understanding

their unquenchable thirst...

But you'll know

You'll know that

what you created

was a generational curse

But you're unable to reverse this

'cause you've fallen in to deep

And the dust that covers your

faltering speech

are just memories

reminiscent of your insatiable greed.

Here your chips fall

let them lie as they may

All that you've traded your soul for

is null and void

'cause you can't take

any of it to where you'll be going someday.

You can't take any of it.

But here you are;

Your soul wasting away...

My Inspiration: Destructive Mentalities and Actions

© KohylahPiper 2016

#53 The Spaces Where Drama Exists Part III

courtesy derekoverfield.deviantart.com

Your fate was foretold;

though it always takes time

one must wait

before shadows

dissipate

to make way for the light,

too many coatings beneath

those

hands clasped so tight

the only signal

that betrayed

the rumblings that

were mounting inside,

till

against the affliction

of your own will

your tongue rebelled;

admittedly,

Freudian speech

was never meant to

be stilled.

Praised be your

blessed lips!

that cut through this chase

of dynamite infiltrated feelings

barely covering ruination's face;

revelling in sharpened wit

its stabs, bleeding

deceit dry

tossing it over the curb

not caring what it said

even less what it heard

only willing it to slowly die.

Confidence seeped through

those

hands clasped so tight

unwilling to bring

them to the face

not partaking from its bounty

for fear of its indigestible lies.

Their only option

was to quiver

splaying tormented fingers wide

opening their space

of secrets and lies...

 

My Inspiration: The Human Condition

 

© KohylahPiper 2015