Word Salad Poetry Magazine

One Thought Splintered

I am a walking poem.
The lines are written
In my face and hands.
Read well between each word
Placed where even
A single space has meaning
Hidden in the safe haven
Where mothers sleep,
And babies dream
Of a life unfolding
Like luscious petals
In slow bloom.

I am a breathing poem.
Hear my voice sound
As a jet engine
Roaring high above you
In the dripping blueness
Of an ageless sky,
Or the soft whisper
In a lullaby
To the child
Whose eyes fight
The hypnotic spell
Of a midnight sun.
Listen to the letters speak
Boldly unto you
As they frame
My body before you
On the paper I call skin.  

I am the envisioned poem
Pressed into corruptible flesh.                                                                                          
The images set firm
Between blankets of light
Caught in an open field
Shining within each grain
Found swimming among
The flowing yellow tides
Of wheat and barley,
And the covering of darkness
Found in the stench
Where flies hide
As maggots follow the trail
Of death creeping and sneaking
Among the decomposed alleys
Built by mankind.

I am the poet’s madness,
Being molded and sculpted
By invisible hands
In the sector of the mind
Where imagination and thoughts
Melt together,
And memories gather
To be resuscitated.
Living and dying
Where shapes are cut
Reformed and sewn
Becoming more than an obsession
As I am reborn again, and again
Through trial and error.
Then finally hearing
The poet cry with exhilaration,
It’s alive!
It’s alive!

by David Barger

Email: This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it