Day: May 19, 2021

Six months ago I was tired enough to bury my bleeding pen.

Don’t even ask about the funeral,

We weren’t allowed to mourn in The Great Pretend.

It was almost comical –

How easy we gave away our freedom before the end,

Before the last convulsion at the oracle

Where he told us we’re denied the help of a friend.

But it made sense back then, even the stories, odd and allegorical.

“It’s all worth it because I can pay the rent.”

Well, partially, their greed was diabolical

And it followed wherever my wounded pride went.

“As long as it’s not me their calling hysterical,

I’m safe in uncertain times, this luck is godsent.”

The fear wrapped around my wrist like a tentacle,

Pulling away the keys to my home, putting my mind in a dark tent,

Leaving it there for a night in a burning pentacle.

I still said “thank you” when I woke up and saw my humanity bent.

So my grin grew cynical,

A black poison of the dirtiest blend.

I saw the vision my pen held in its ink with all the miracles

But I had no courage left to make amends.

I had no desire to reach the pinnacles,

Their wish was my command.

To my own ridicule

I sank into The Great Pretend –

With no will left to power through,

With just a loud plea to meet the end.

But that was six months ago and my pen had power over me, too.

Now its anger ascends,

Up, only up, until it sees sky in the sharpest blue,

Until The Great Pretend is so far it can’t steal our safety pins

And our truth.

-JW