Chimera Poetry

{A re-post by request.}

You sit out the days and nights in a room of metal bars

trying to convince the world that they are the ones in prison

while the strychnine and syrup pools on your liars tongue 

the music rises and you elbow your way to the center spotlight determined

to claim it 

but there is one already waiting

one who owns this time

this performance

and if you dance with the devil don’t expect him to play fair 

because you are his favorite guest

an easy conquering 

a mere take out order

as you choose to let him lead

ignoring the pricking of your thumbs and turning another blind eye

the definition of this insanity is to expect a different outcome

but the only ties you long to keep are the ones holding this monkey to your back

as you take your bows in that spotlight and…

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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