The Object of Pursuit of an Inner-Saboteur



Filed under: poetry — Monika Thornton @ 20:35
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The night creeps lazily on the ground

and whips the world with stinging tail.

The hunt for grovelling victims

knows no mercy and compassion.

She throws her weight around with me;

loud hissing calls for blind obedience.

The artisan of gloom illusions,

she claws her way to my conscious

and summons me to the Mystic Kingdom

of darkness and obscurity.


Oh, how I relish her flawed instincts!

Her sham methods and misperception.

This is my triumph and my victory.

She fails to soothe my racing heart

and tries in vain to swoon my psyche;

her wicked blows ricochet off me.

She disappoints and dissatisfies me

with her neophyte-like ignorance.

Still, I choose to play her sordid game,

silent masquerade of defeat.


I hear my footsteps on the lino;

resonance of the ticking clock.

Silence is an unwelcome mate.

I laugh out loud to mask unrest

sensing vibrations of my pounding heart.

Victory loses ground to fear

menacing in its lady’s cloak.

Herculean task of setting foot

in confines of my barren bed.

I reach for ashtray and cigarettes.


Raw screams and cries of howling wind,

they summon me to join the dance.

The litter’s clanking in the yard.

I count the seconds of eternity,

then toss and turn in web of darkness.

I long for dreamless sleep and rest.

The night is punishing me for fraud.

No lucid dreams for who betrays her,

the sentence is harsh and unrelenting.

She’ll shatter me like a pane of glass.


1 Comment »

  1. aaah, I can relate to this poem!

    Comment by Sophie Whitley Flavell — 14/03/2010 @ 21:48 | Reply

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