Do Round Out The Base Metal Poem by M.J. Lemon

You might ask
where's the technique?
Exactly
Where is it?
There are days the words rush
to the finish line
with first across
setting the winning
tone for the silver, the bronze
A few odd laggards
still race
do manage
do round out the base metal
brigade
Where would we all be
without the utility players?
at times the canvas is drenched
in the floral colours of imagination
dripping down slowly, slowly
only to be swallowed up by
the great beneath
bloody red profanity
purple prose
the sedate egg shell
of infantile drooling
All it may take
is a memory, a jolt
an old war wound
a familiar face
baby's breath or
a jagged bone poking flesh
looking up for the first time
in a place you thought
you knew
looking back
in time or in space
sometimes the message
is taken screaming
to the scaffold where
it faces the executioner
who nails the letters
one by one to the gallows
then there are times
it is but a whisper
that fades so gently
in all that's air...
However it begins
always it continues...