Late Night Waiting

Late night waiting in the glow of Yankee lights
leads my mind to wonder, "Why haven't I wrote?"

Why do I avoid pen and paper even when I suffocate?

I write to be free, to reach for encouragement, to see without scales or blinders.

I want them to fall from my eyes when I lift my pen.
I want warm relief as putrid sludge pours out of my mouth. I want to empty the vacuous, rotten hole of mute filth, spewing it up through my torn throat.

I want to be free.

I need to reach out and hope someone will lead me, walk with me,
as I release the mute demon whose hands tighten my throat.

As for now - the Aflac duck swims serenely in the pool and the shining lights of
Valvoline motor oil and cable vision leave me no hope and no voice, and waiting.

Tag: poem