Prick Poem by Troy Cochran

Prick

Rating: 5.0


I met my Self today
snooping around in a parking lot
for cigarette butts
to start his day
on bits of stepped-on luck
that others had so casually thrown away.

He introduced himself as Elwood.
I said my name is Troy.
He laid his story out to bleed
in broken bits of conversation. I, a void,
took one look, sized him up, down,
chopped him into little pieces, smiled,
chatted merely, and quickly drove away.

I was mistook.
I saw no immortality and
I was afraid.

Now I sit in the aftermath
sifting through debris:
I met the lord of a parking lot
and had for my early morning thought
nothing more to say.

I was polite only,
to a godling grounded in his flight ~
his car was broken down, you see;
his life, shit on, shit out, and probably
playing over and over in his mind
like a broken record,
reflected horrors back on me.
It opened wide an epic Book for me too big to read
and in his eyes an honest plea for everyone to see:

ENSCRIBE!

I read his grief, and shattered pride,
and looked no more inside.

I must have scribbled something in his Book
as one who signs his name and leaves,
was something in his look that seemed displeased.
He drifted further than he ought to, casting kingdom downward, there
where we two lords of light converged
on the frontier where we never merged
to explore some matters of opinion and domain, masculine
and defeated kings.

In another frame of time and incarnation
I imagine how our horses grazed.

I should have made with him a little more
and been a witness to reflections
I have never seen before:
A man down on his heart and luck, but in his own domain,
bearing his immortal Book.

In the main:
I took the thorn when presented with a rose
and felt the prick of my indifference.

I am ashamed.

Saturday, October 7, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: confessional,metaphysical
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Kumarmani Mahakul 07 October 2017

Scribbling something in books we find new chapters of knowledge. Politely you have found the moment of experience in sitting. Prick of indifference is felt. Wonderful reflections are reflected and witnessed. This confessional and metaphysical poem is very wisely penned and this is really amazing one...10

1 0 Reply
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success