Searching, sifting
through the debris,
the wreckage of the disaster
that had created me.
The disaster
I had walked away from, free
just bleeding with aching limbs.
I've been looking,
trying to find meaning,
but only finding battered
reminders of a feeling.
When I should have been
seeking peace within.
I've been finding pieces,
old broken limbs instead.
Worn out organs
and remnants of the dead.
I've been searching, dredging
through the dirt
collecting them old limbs
to create something from the hurt.
I've been searching, but maybe
I should have stopped.
The appendages started to pile up,
the memories too many to store,
started to rot.
So, I started to stich them together.
Giving them form.
I've been searching, scratching through
the dark recesses of my brain
for other parts I could use,
I found a battered used up old heart
hidden down by the side of the sofa,
£3.25 in change and some fluff
which I've rearranged into a beard.
But it still wasn't enough.
So, then things went a little weird.
From the cemetery,
I dug up some old bones
during the dead of night.
I may have taken a few lives.
Stolen a few hearts
to provede blood flow.
to complete the project
I'd started so many years ago.
The phantoms wailing
a disapproving chorus, which I bottled up
To give some voice.
before I put my feet up for a brew
and turned out the light.
Then one brooding
stormy winter night
I was working late,
and a loud crash,
a flash. A blast.
Fate.
Electricity zipped and zapped
and the spell was cast. The beast was alive,
and into the world he wandered at last.
Thanks for reading
Please take a few moments
to check out my new book "Poetic Outlaw"
available from Amazon
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CVQ5F9K8/
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