Battle's End

Spiritual siege gasping its last,
I glimpse the distant light
while fever assails this
body of clay,
outrage assisting the purge
of illusion,
soul's blinding blight
acquired while attempting
to disarm the landmines
of a dissonant tongue.
While I sweated,
bowed low in the field,
sprays of gunfire
pockmarked the air,
scrambling my instincts,
piercing my ears,
twisting,
pulling,
gouging something away
until there was a hole,
a hole sprung wide in my soul.
A labor of love, yes,
but somewhere on that battlefield
between earth and sky
ran an invisible thread of steel
strung taut like a tripwire --
barbed, charged,
and waiting.

Jealous Captor

On his knees within,

the addict stumbles through the day,

substance crooning, "I'm your friend,"

while holding friends at bay.

Mere mortals can't compete

with the peaks of ecstasy

that wax and wane alluringly

in twisted reverie.