The Path Of My Retreat

the toss of keeping up at night
the flight of vivid insect wail
through veins of humid chasing after
momentary soft exhale

though dashing images fall to shatter
clash about my chamber pale
grey be clouds of riled laughter
angst be prayer to no avail

succumb to this inspecting ever
pursue the struggles absolute
then damn the hands that grip together
tear the faces from their root

murmur chides of frustrated pallor
storm in brusquely pacing doom
excite the ramparts cannon fluster
war upon the vapid fume

light the cold and seeking hunger
scratch upon the vacant page
fill the spaces we dismember
fractures of awakened rage

who better yes to judge the treasure
casting iron dagger eyes
let precision arm this infector
call the names we stigmatize

weak be kindly gestured rumor
knowing poison sweet supplant
may call to strings of puppet humor
farce be all i find in that

although the honeyed petal drips
to catch the angles of my reach
deception’s bittersweet remiss
i fall on that to comfort me

let known be momentary weakness
exposed in youths frivolity
lost in the myriad miles of spaces
trace the unknown in between

when heat has given way to silence
when all the ripples calmly fade
i etch and wrestle each excitement
turn back to sleep i slip away

© Emerys Watchel, 2006, 2016 All rights reserved.

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2 thoughts on “The Path Of My Retreat

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