This soul is malnourished,
cries in cambered sleep of
gap-tooth hunger pangs,
stern visions steep in drear
whirlpools of bare-bones
dreams shattered, littering
drained and dourly silent
settling pans. There is no
cataract gleaming, no scent
lingering in redolent air, no
food for thought or hint of
it, no bend to an ugly track.
It is the end of an effete
innuendo, a shamefully
bleak act of selfishness –
there is no room here for
that beast – omnivorous,
egoistic, caricature me.
I see with a soul weak from
self-deprecation; to be free
I must release the bonds of
hubristic delusion – there is
no sustenance afforded me
in this serving dish of illusion.
Farewell fools, I came to sup
with thee in belief we could
feed each other but we are
mules; leeches feed and givers
give while starvation eats
our hearts for others’ glory.
© 23 July 2007, I.D. Carswell
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