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The Wait Ceases
My mind screams against negligence
—
a lack of self-preservation. The cry instills
the craving of an old friend
resurrected from its eternal abyss.
I don't have to stare down the hole
for its gaze to invade my fragile mind.
Control slips by the second.
My will weakens with each tremor fluctuating
inside my bones. I'm bound to this rite
not of my free will—not by duty.
The story demands expansion.
I'm too weak to ignore its imploring call.
Euphoria, or it's substitute, dawns.
But when? Justice waits only so long
when the torturer holds authority.
My hand reaches for the mighty weapon,
and the old leather tome revives the plot.
© Hesher John
Revised—somewhat—repost from Poetizer.
—
a lack of self-preservation. The cry instills
the craving of an old friend
resurrected from its eternal abyss.
I don't have to stare down the hole
for its gaze to invade my fragile mind.
Control slips by the second.
My will weakens with each tremor fluctuating
inside my bones. I'm bound to this rite
not of my free will—not by duty.
The story demands expansion.
I'm too weak to ignore its imploring call.
Euphoria, or it's substitute, dawns.
But when? Justice waits only so long
when the torturer holds authority.
My hand reaches for the mighty weapon,
and the old leather tome revives the plot.
© Hesher John
Revised—somewhat—repost from Poetizer.
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