Tuesday, August 1, 2017

fishing line

how do you kill a man
who is ready to die
when the sun of his life
is a shadow in the twilight skies

when the fishing line of life
is a thread through open lips
cinching them close, tight
closer than storm fucked ships

and the call of a wild heart
is but a whimper in a dark room
how do you kill a man
who is welcoming his doom

with open arms and open eyes
lips sealed with fishing line of lies
humming to the tunes of the oncoming fire
how do you kill a man who is burned by desire

I wanted to take this poem in a different direction. It's not as good as I'd like it to be. Maybe I will come back this for a revision. But for now, it stays like this.