I fear that I could die

Homo est Machina


I fear that I could die
from secret magic spells.
Please do not ask me why
I wear my cap and bells.

I feel that I could live
after my time is done.
What advice then I would give
when all is past and gone.

I fear that I could see
that ghost who lives in me.
I hope it never hears
my doubts and my fears.

I fear that I could climb
the highest mountain top
and spend all my time
in bliss until I drop.

I fear that I could make
the universe from scratch.
These chains then I would break
from gods I would detach.

I fear that I could crawl
like a beast on all fours.
I feel no shame at all
to revive my old sores.

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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. Not.....me. 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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