Michel Antoine

Rookie (February 6,1962 / Hamilton, NJ)

Exact Change: Quarters For The Merry-Go-Round - Poem by Michel Antoine


Michel Antoine
April 16,2012

Babbling brook ramble on; the endless suites of names-
I call forth to my lover's pain
But he's not there, he's nowhere to be found
Beneath my tranquil storm
A frozen rapture is revealed.
Persistent, penetrating and perplexed,
I go again into the gates of hell.
Abashed by inner turmoil-
Knowing an acknowledged port as altruistic anthem
His tears do fill me up yet I'll never show him them.

Mighty Mike the altogether fantasy of tomorrow
With days of wine and roses stolen from the heart
I long in endless journey
A path of insecurity, who knew?
An ego shattered yet brazen forth-
Burns on in golden embers of my yesterdays.
Weakness and defeat stoke the flames of my creation
Trying to ignite an incendiary device,
I could have lost my life.

Prior to the joyous cure, the physical being arrests itself;
It erupts, convulsions ensue-bilious lava projects
And angst and obsession flourish across every cell of the brain
Voiding their tiny holding tanks to nil.
Again he arrived, unarmed and enamored by it all.
I now am granted a very brief moment of clarity,
A stay of execution if you will,
On the necessary cobblestone I must travel.

The quest was short
As the same phone always takes exact change.
Delivery made, blood pressure increases
Anxiety heightens, anticipation runs amok
In just two minutes to execute too lovely of a desire.
-where there was heartache, a rhythm now beats in mellow jazz.
-where there had been panic and despair, a calming sea foam's crest ablazes.
-where anger and rage raped the brain's obsession clean,
Each assembly-line divot is now liquid-filled, flowing joyfully.
-smiles rebound, energies anew,
You look sexy hot to me now babe
And I know just what needs to be done now.
And though this ride is far from over,
As it is stuck in a merry-go-round of horses
-flailing up beaming to the heavens,
-crashing down where death awaits.
When does this ride end?
A choice, a gift of desperation-must burst forth.
Grab it while you can
It often only shimmers for a brief moment before
You reach for the pocketful of quarters to ride again.
Insanity has been described as doing the same dreadful behavior
Over and over yet expecting different results.
And so I came face to face with it.
Yet triumphed, the trumpets sound their treasure.

I am out of quarters today
And though beatitude and bliss
Don't walk hand in hand with me daily,
They know my name this day.
Mighty mike is dethroned
Joyfully relinquishing the bejeweled crown
Back to God where it belongs.
And babbling brook gracefully flows downstream
Smoothing over every pebble.
We sigh, we can breathe again
Our hearts chime the renaissance

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Poem Submitted: Monday, April 16, 2012

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