Struggle Modern Poem by GRANT FRASER

My God!
don't start telling
us your actually still
alive and well...

while clinging to the raft
as I am!

as a waft of spirit infiltrates
the mind,

let mankind organise destruction
and no end,

for revival requires
crystalisation,

cut yourself out
of the present fixture,
with very big scissors
that scare the likes,

something that can limit
all space and eternity!

for the meaning of language
is to embellish so acutely,
that everyday normality
should swing back and eat you,

such meaninglessness,
is my literal pillow,

to rest the weary distracted
poet longing for a quill,
or even a basic scribble
to motivate a lack of willpower,

everything's been used!
these old shoes I'm wearing
fell off old poets feet,
and it's already ruined...

and me and you
what are we to do,
invent some newfangled others?

lets walk barefoot - he said,
in fact lets strip completely!

Oh! I wouldn't do that,
the body is always at war with itself,

while thought explodes
in the hidden infirmaries
of our minds...

take it to a surgery,
see a doctor,
the mind is so ill,
because of all we think
and do not contest,

'I'll refer you to someone,
your not feeling dangerous
are you? '

yeah! all my life,
words just want to break
or take me over...