“Would you shut up already!” I say to the fiend.
If I close my eyes tight, maybe he’ll just leave.
“I can still hear you. I mean it: enough!”
“I’m just trying to help,” he explains in my ear.
His snickering scratches me, leaving a trail.
“Are you going to cower over a little fear?
I pegged you for stronger, my sweet little dear.”
I blink back a tear; my tongue has been tied.
Pulling the covers over my head, I just want to hide.
A moment of silence, the coast could be…
“So why aren’t you trying your very best?”
he mocks. “I mean, look at the rest;
some aren’t even writers and they pass the test.
Perhaps you should let that one sink in,”
he says with a grin.
Where is my voice? I want to respond.
How does he know so much about me?
What does he see that I cannot see?
Who does he think he is harassing me?
My thoughts are enraged; my eyes are inflamed.
“Cat got your tongue? That’s really a shame.
I had high hopes for you, my dear,” he says.
Those glistening eyes are a sight most vile.
If I could reach him, I'd rip them right out.
And that evil smile!
“Now look at that, I’ve really made you mad.
If you can’t stand the heat, you’d better think twice.
Take my advice; you’re wasting your time.
The ladder of success isn’t yours to climb.”
I’m starting to boil; I’m coming unglued.
Who the hell is this sinister dude?
Screw him! What does he know?
I’ve got a right to tell him exactly where to go.
“No one cares.” He throws his head back.
“Your words are in vain and they lack
a certain something,” is his smart alec crack.
“They fall on deaf ears if they fall on any at all.”
I’ve had enough! He’s plundered my voice.
Damn it already, where is my voice!
I want to scream, I want to shout. He's robbed me of choice.
I take a deep breath; I must get this out.
“Just shut up already. And while you're at it;
go to hell!” I manage to shout.
His boisterous laugh, so sardonic, it echoes.
Like the clink of a bell, it rings in my ears.
“Silly little lamb,” he shakes his head while he smirks.
“My sweet little dear, I am hell.”
Mind Wide Open
Lost in translation are the fragments of this beautiful life.
This poem is VERY powerful; one of your best, I think. And hearing you read it brings the emotion to life. I love it. I'm too tired to go on anymore about it, but it's fantastic.
ReplyDeleteUnfortunately, this is real to me - as I'm sure it is to many people. It's as close as I've been able to get to writing magic realism. Someday I'll figure out how to actually do magic realism, and that excites me.
ReplyDeleteI am glad that someone else likes this piece, as I think it's one of my better works also. Thank you.
Magic realism is my new passion, ever since I took Prose, and it's my goal to be a writer of urban fantasy (the same thing, basically). This piece does fit the bill, I would say. Have you read Baudlaire or Gibran's stories about the devil? Both are amazing.
ReplyDeleteTHis is the one for the Dylan contest? I think it's very good. Dylan was very dry, though, with an underlying humor - but your ending line is very strong as far as that goes. Dylan had a penchant for writing streams of consciousness, while this is structured. Alone, it's a terrific piece. I think it will do well in the Dylan contest, too, because it has that almost dry wit combined with real, deep emotion.
ReplyDeleteYes, it is. And, thanks again.
ReplyDeleteI've been working on a magic realism short story. It may not be my best, but it's actually becoming a great piece. Think "the web we weave" meets "the things we allow ourselves to believe" and throw in an abyss of personal hell...