Crack’ed Lines

A poem published by Mojave Heart Review. Original link was here (no longer valid).

If the link is broken, you can read it below.

 

Crack’ed Lines

On the old grimy desk I lay my crack’
ed lines, in perfect symmetry. Quietly
I roll a 50 euro bill (for groceries) and
tap it on the wood, worn like my past.

Those laughing thoughts and voices,
that never cease, come out to haunt
the haunched, distorted figure in this
broken seat; now a former throne of

all of my past deceits. White walls of
the auctioned house; nine bedrooms
of unspoken rhymes. Published now
the stories of it all, the life I controlled.

An honoured man of a written word…
Lines I wrote, redacted, awards un-
given, legacy destroyed. Their writing
is on the wall. My words, their stories.

Unfathered and divorced; rejected are
my past lives. Cleared and wiped as if
never real. But this final night I shall
sup in the darkness of white, relish

the lives I will destroy. For now it is my
writing all over those walls, dabbed in red
and blue, soaked in sweat and tears –
the magic song of my final

farewell through my words
of their stories.
On the old grimy desk I lay my crack’
ed lines, the last lines I will ever procure.


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