...written as though by Mr. Sark...
O, new-born singing blood,
Tortured by its syncopated measure
Which holds, and rests, and lends one leisure
Until such time again will warble
Swirled with grief to signal trouble.
Plasma gluts within a wound
Until the tongue no more makes sound.
And when I gave you back to safety
'Twas an embrace you did reward--
To he you took to be your saviour,
And not to he who shift'd your world.
Though now you sleepwalk in
Terror constant, below skin
Where blood doth run
And fear doth stick,
My face remember, my touch recall,
And dread the chewing of your sorrows;
The fleshy gap carved into your gums the single
Signal of all you've lost.
Disclaimer:This work is not affiliated in any way with the ABC spy series Alias, or, for that matter, Mr. Sark, whose poetry--until such time as he wishes to make it public--remains unsung, unfeted, and largely unknown.
by: Neftzer 2002 (c)
Feedback Appreciated!
Mr. Sark Writes Loves Poetry