Gus Schreiber


Complacency - Poem by Gus Schreiber

All is of motion
except me
All is of motion
from the flux of seasons
to the parade of generations,
speices,
harvest,
life and death,
but I sit desperately still
in a crumbling room.
I screamed coming in,
will moan going out,
and have complained
the whole way through,
dragging my heels
as an unseen father
has pulled my tiny hand
through the crowd of a strip mall.
The voices in my head
see this and rage,
tearing screams
against the walls of my skull.
They are ants
scurrying to and fro
and a spider sits within me
perfectly motionless on his web,
grinning.


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Poem Submitted: Monday, December 12, 2011

Poem Edited: Tuesday, December 13, 2011


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