Tag Archives: conscious

The Thing Inside – A poem


hyde

The Thing Inside

It dug deep inside of me and slouched in

the corners of my mind where it directed

me where to go.

It pulled the strings and propped me up

like a caricature in a show.

My emotions were muted like hearing the

sound of a loud glorious church bell

down deep in a dank musty well.

I floated but there was no water to be seen,

no apparent wave had struck me yet I felt

slapped just the same.

I spied you amidst lights, and through the

wall of sound that I had to walk around and over

and under to get close to your side.

You looked sad and wanting to my brown eyes,

because your blue eyes found mine and

I knew it in my soul to be true.

We were connected me and you.

But this thing that slouched, and slithered and sat

this thing made my eyes see you as a trap

I had to traverse or never make it back intact.

This thing inside had a magic wand, which it tapped on my temples

ever so softly as it laughed at me in glee and showed me the shadows

which raced behind everyone’s

heart along with my own.

My memories were dim as I woke in bed, the creature who once

had crouched inside was seemingly gone.

“Foul creature!” I screamed inside, but no answer came

Thankfully.

But mayhem had been met by me that previous night and the

damages I had accrued could not be undone.

I think of that thing that was once inside

and wonder if it will always abide.

by Philip Wardlow 2012

The Opposition


The Opposition

I think I could see the good in you

If I slapped you hard enough

for it to fall out,but I think my hand would break first.

I hate your smugness, your arrogance,your assuredness

that resides in your countenance and the flippant careless words you fling.

You’re a lumper, a categorizer, a generalizer,A stereotyper.

All to isolate and perpetuate the status quo.What am I then, I ask?

A fucking asshole that hates you?

But I’m oh so much more.

I am your opposition, your reflection you look away from,

the child you have stomped into the ground, I am your forgotten regrets,

your hope, your Jiminy Cricket with a baseball bat held high over your head,

and I will always be there to beat you back from the massacres

you wish to inflict,

because you can only cheat death for so long.

 

by Philip Wardlow