Me Poem by Chris Townsend

The past she haunts she brings her vengeance to bear,
As the inner core of my being, she rips to tear,
The hell bent ringing bell, the hurting time begins,
As the silent calls that surround, the effervescent colored sin,
Silence is as golden as the day loses its thrill,
This life’s rich cup, its brim to fill,
Everything I turn to is like a mirror on the shelf,
The only blame lies deep within myself,
To touch but not to feel,
To be as a fantasy deep in real,
I am everywhere but I don’t exist in fact,
This image so clear has finally cracked,
Honesty takes these words distorts them to waste,
As within my life time, I run around to haste,
All these swirling influences are mine and mine alone,
As these barricades are put up, defending my home,
Another rampage another time complete,
As I withdraw, this rhyme of defeat,
Cauldron this thing where I put my hates,
All these screams set aside my fate,
Leave it all, let it go,
As this peace envelops, speed gone slow,
Rotate and gently put me down,
As I coo to myself, a quiet gentle sound,
Smooth out the curves, let me touch your face,
Calmness, a peace, let go of my human chase,
Colors leave my fingers, drift to their end,
As this quiet calmness, this message I send,
I can feel all the softness in this coffin, this rejection of hate,
These things, which end, all these things I can relate,
A smooth point, a place I can see,
All this clarity a big part of me…