An Air Condiioned Hell Poem by David Lacey

A surge of memories comes thrashing
Through the canal’s of my mind,
They leave the streets upon which my
Thoughts walk drenched in sorrow,
Here I am, shaking in anticipation,
Awaiting the dawn of tomorrow’s awakening,
Here I am, purging the demons of the past
Through the deconstruction of my sanctuary,
Trying to hold on to some faint reminiscence
Of the life I used to lead so well.

These days I find myself in an air conditioned hell,
Turning over and over at night
Within the heat and the sweat of my own devils rising.
Within he turns, within he burns away at the substance of my heart, telling me, demanding of me that I tear myself apart,
Away from the joy of drifting upon a shifting mood.
He says give in to the flood, deny your mood any ability to float,
Coat yourself in a suit of sorrow and obey the ghosts
Of tomorrow in their projection. He whispers in my ear to fear the rejection of an angel’s tear, he asks of me to waste away the
In my approach, touching upon the divine but never knowing my
Potential to be fulfilled. He asks of me to deny my will and I can not
For I have not Forgotten the way of our forefathers finding,
The way that they journeyed the landscapes of their minds
And the way that though blind prophets have seen
All that could be and could ever had been.