Kindred
spirit, battling demons too ferocious
to
conquer with élan or wit,
Faces in
crowds, the stink of yesterdays,
rise from
dungeons of dread and flit.
When
paths cross and roads meet,
where
destinies are unclear;
peopled
with memories of screwed up pasts:
A future
confronted with fear.
When life
and death become a sometime thing,
stuck in
a child's-play video game;
plastic
monsters with grotesque faces
plague
the twilight of sometime shame --
armed
with fake shotguns we shoot them down
but they
return again and yet again --
Lend me a
hand, o winged friend,
let us
banish such forever pain.
Cross the
rainbow to the morning star
that
shines away the night,
in poetry
starkly writ across
the sky
in shadows of glorious starlight.
For, the
skydiver confessed to real fear
of
unopened parachutes as death hovered near
and that
moments before the jump
one
thought does wisdom lend:
Egos,
fights, pettiness are nothing but
a vacuum
when faced with the end.
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