Friday, May 04, 2012

immolation



hardened regulars,
with leathered skin,
beaten down,
broken by steady adversity,
team jackets,
dirty brimmed ball caps,
shuffle in and out of the liquor store,
well ashed smokes dangle from lower lips,
they seek comfort,
a safety in an alcoholic daze,
like the arms of a cosmic mother,
protected,
a baby in a womb,
but they know,
and they teach me,
there is an acceptance,
a surrender to contingency,
an embracing of the unknown,
like the fighter pilots,
or front line soldiers,
who fought drunk,
went blind into the fire,

gnarled, shaking fingers turn keys,
unlock squeaky doors,
into quiet, dusty apartments,
to sit in front of TVs,
where they work the liquor down,
drowning down,
into the black,
where we can't control,

I don't fear you anymore,
I know you are waiting,
you've been there all my life,
a ghost in the flames,
a face in the darkness,
we have to live here,
us drunks and soldiers,
courage so fragile,
we don't know why we are fighting,
and we are friends,
they protect me even in the most raging, twisted dreams,
and when it's time,
we will walk together,
through the black,
into the light,

purified.

















2 comments:

temporal rooms said...

this is such a tuff one H.P.
we are all soldiers walking away and toward the war within ourselves, drunk and blind knowing there is really nothing there.

~robert

Old Ollie said...

HP - you are an imagery master.