I heard the voice — whirling in my ears
like a breeze whistling on leaves
with the bluster of November not expecting
December to overshadow it — though
in my delirium I could not find it.
The voice — alien and incoherent as it seized
my mind without a through to the impression
it left — told me to leave (bounded
in lunacy and invisible) to
the irrational rabble wrapped in regret.
Was it mania — a psychic knot tied
to some forgotten tram unspooling and
unwelcome — or merely benign?
I am not delusional enough
to think I know the difference.
Phillip Knight Scott | © 2019
Written for a few prompts:
- DVerse Poetics Pub Tears in rain – using our senses
- Wolff Poetry word prompt challenge : “invisible”
- BrewNSpew Cafe weekly prompt : “psychic”
- V.J.’s weekly challenge #70 : “alien”
I am thrilled, delighted, terrified and other emotions to announce that my first collection of poetry — PAINT THE LIVING PLANT THE DEAD — is now available to purchase. Check it out!