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by Keaton Foster



Above
My head
Shame
Is wedged
Pain filled
Woven with regret
Lending me time
More than most
To comprehend
Retrospection
A god unto itself
Under my feet
Broken rocks
Shattered pieces
Of what once stood
Intricate temples
With blessed vestibules
Entrances to both
This mind and this soul
Portals to a preponderance
Of unimaginable ideas
Expression meant temples
To be dismantled
And not destroyed
Now they are gone
Devastated
Barren and wasted
Such shattered pieces
Causing me to bleed
Hemorrhaging
Nonsensical words
That few will understand
They are not oblivious
Just occupied ignoramuses
With a lot on their minds
I don’t blame them
What good would that do
I was once so sure
That building such monuments
To myself was a reasonable idea
And I was quite wrong
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Nothing white
Nothing pure
Rotten has become this core
Blackened is my soul
What an empty hole
From it
Nothing does grow
Consuming the world
Before these eyes
Little by little
Those who loved me
Have fallen out of view
Increasingly blind is the man
That has nothing
Further to believe
Lesser does living seem
What I’m doing
Is something else
Existing is more
Than a beating heart
Or a thinking brain
Existing is about being here
When being here
Is what was intended least of all
Existing is above surviving
Those few critical life events
The ones that change us
In ways of both scope and detail
Those events
And how we react to them
Are of course paramount
We must be living the best that we can
As we slowly die in such terrible ways
I am at odds with myself
And the dismantled temples
Once built by these hands
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Nothing stands as it once did
Nor will it ever again…


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Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2014.