Scenes
isn’t scenes of beastly screaming
voices drown a stasis bleeding
forcing choices vilely reeking
where I cling to my own debris
caught within I hear the chaos
chorused in a choral singing
bartered hubris numbs my senses
stripping me of all true feeling
solitary innovation
calmed by complex contemplation
choosing where it will be standing
how to save itself oblivion
no-one knows her more than she does
cheating them of goals outreaching
bringing me to where I’m ceded
alone inside a crowded room
entombed within a baleful vault
no-one leaves and doors are bolted
intellect has trialled and faltered
grieves it wouldn’t have succeeded
© 28 August 2009, I. D. Carswell
poem by Ivan Donn Carswell
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