Friday, June 27, 2008

Gate Keeper


Burps (of boiled-reek) into nostrils whiff of fear
And times beyond today come crushing into me
The moments before, through storm I had steered
And to which I’d come to rest with death so near

Death walks with me along a lonely path
And the loudness of its calm grips me up
The price of swaggered arrogance swings its wrath
And spills my life from emptied cup

Ghostly whispers and phantoms smile with greed
Their arms reach with essence no longer distilled
Fingers rake along the skin that does not bleed
And I wonder if the life (of me) perhaps was swilled

Running away not in despise or even in dread
I hunger for the days ahead and their flavour
I gorge of release, of thunder caps in my head
And perhaps I thank luck and my guarding savior