Where I Live... Poem by GRANT FRASER

Where I Live...



I work in a dark place,
making things that will
never see the light of day,

thought casts its iron shadow
across my face,

funny that I could ever
be you, him, her, even them,

this could just be steam,
or the last drop,

until everything reverses,
or flies back -

ping!

where is your source of hope,

I hope...to hope again,

until something takes it
all away - like before,

to exist, I can hardly paint
what it is with my finger...

I'm not looking to write the
perfect poem either,

but unless I am lying to myself
or to others,

or it's just the drama of the person
who cannot push these images, any further...

then in a way - I'm willing to say that,

admit, that whatever it is,

until I hit rock bottom,
or continue to batter out
this poor logic,
until at least I know then

that I am not stupid enough,
nor should I halt the process,

stupid enough to feel good about
something that enters the head,
takes me to the sublime,

I live in a dark place,
in what most, might call light,

plenitudes of too much, maybe...

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