Slam/Poetry

Slammed into a wall made up of what’s wrong with me --
Its hard laid surface built to last, mortared with my bilious shit,
Chronicles of sordid failure graffitied ‘cross each brick.
How could I contrive to turn my back to it,
Hope it wouldn’t come looming long behind me?
Then, of course, still worse, she’d find me.
Thus, I faced it…to embrace it, to confess.
Cowering at the cold base of my daunting edifice,
I wept there, held its mean truths tightly to my breast.
(Knowing that they fit me made them softer when they hit me.)
Baiting, then abating,
Gathering, there, for her to see me…
As if to burst I crouched, daring her to flee me.
Wouldn’t I? And, so, I left.

It’s said music begins to atrophy
As it strays, turned way from the dance.
And, likewise, the fair rhyme of poesy dies
When torn from its song, dear romance.
But if memory’s vessels be heartstrings immortal,
Will serve as a vase to protect,
Pain’s veil won't diminish my love’s gorgeous image
Or rapt, sweetly cast spells’ effect.