I wrote this while in a very peculiar state of mind. I'm wondering what any of you who are more into poetry (free verse, in this case) will think of it.
When a door closes
In the quiet, quiet, with a bang!
Metallic bang, a bang trails away on little echo feet
And leaves you in the listening dark
At the twist, somewhere in the nexus
Metal walls that chatter when you touch
And flagstones with no flags, only
Graveheads you must walk upon, for now the
Door is gone, gone, gone. Walk on.
And so the time will pass, and air
Will sometimes billow, silly-sweet,
And othertimes with tempest-teeth tear
At the ragged standard you bear,
Your honour. "Your Honour! I object
To this travesty of traps and
Turnings, this maze of lost regards
And what are those eyes in the ceiling, in cupboards?"
But with, within and without the wind
Wander and weary, weaken and worry
Toward the center, and the sunlight you forsook
So many years ago, when you put
Knives in your tongue, and drew
Fear-blood from care, frost from rebuke
And then, at last! Brightness, brightness
Folding in, furling out
All the broken walls behind
All the chasms, mute and blind
Left behind at the center
A stumble, knee-bound, hands so small I know
Not a mirage, not a dream, not a wish
Of a thousand miles of memory fog
But the reality, begun and shorn
On whims, so fickle but so aching soft
You bathe in that light like silken azure lightning
Electrocuted with knowledge, remembrance, regret
The labyrinth was progress, this caged
Current is failure-stasis, current is failure-stasis, current is--
And there is an end, terminal defeat
Swift retreat from another try
As the maze creaks and groans about you
Its supports, they fall onto dead-sand slopes
One by one, clink-clink. "How are you?"
"My my, that climb is too steep!"
When the walls fall all the way
To wherever it is walls will,
There you will be, weeping evening tears
Lit like a penitent angel with cruciform blue lashes
Strung up in your center, the maelstrom
A heartbeat away all around,
Humming doom like a song-shroud,
But its taste is warm cinnamon
Velvet oblivion, goodnight, goodnight
And are there sweet tones in death-music to match the bitter?
Open, open, the dark
Turns inside in and darkside out
And perhaps the wrecks and rails you rode
Here will turn you free upon
Another romantic axis, all blades and desire
Whirl away, a rising siren whirr
And spin the sphere onward. Spin. Spin.
https://www.dropbox.com/s/z8ls3rc3f4mkb … n.txt?dl=1