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Healing, Poetry

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Death transpired Life

Morning’s metamorphic mourning

Locked, stocked and barreling

Over waterfalls of emotional riptides

Broken open on tear-dropped

Slip and slide

Shows playing in the theatre of my mind

Nothing seems like yesterday

Yesterday seems like everything

Tomorrow

Crawls in

At a snails pace

I have only now

Only here

My then has
gone

Over there

Loss is in vogue

Rogue time

Reflects in corners

Cobwebbed warnings

Wander through

Dust of winds wondering

How will I move time

Without counting on it?

Morning no longer embraces me

It faces me in drill Sergeant stance

Commanding cooperation,

Demanding acquiescence

Long gone morning dew kisses

Now spits directions

With angry inflections

get up – you
must get up

dress – you must dress

move – work

talk – listen

eat – move – go”

The afterbirth of afternoons

Expel ghostly gradations

Little or no remembrance

“Where did the day go?”

Night falls down

Drunken stupor of evening

Stumbles into my home

Mocking me

My pretty pretty darkness

Once friend

Now foe

Now fiend

Now faux

With foggy memories

 Comes father
time

Fondling

a watch he can’t rewind

Tick tock…

Death pox

Covers me

Invisibly

Expunging energy

Tick tock

Midnight perches on my bed,

Lays his head upon my cushions

Pushing

Hours,

Mending

Minutes

Stalking

Seconds

I

watch

Tick

Tock

Tick

Tock

Bastard clock

Iya Isoke © 2011

About The "SoKey" Experience

Each morning I wake I pour myself into a goblet, slowly inhaling the scent of my own faults, swirling them around the glass, allowing them to breath, then I sip, allowing my own inconsistencies to soak my tongue before swallowing. If I am tipsy from my own frailties - I'm less likely to become drunk on yours. -SoKey (introspection)

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She Writes – Date Night!

June 2011
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