O, Sweet Alarm

75a1e6798ec06f71346d124d6975e4f2

 

Summoned by the bell from the deepest dreamed hell

to a steel-cold reality with a taste of mortality

buried under the weight of an unlooked for fate.

Here, in my warm bed with a pillow under my head,

I stir like a whale harpooned, like a lover swooned

longing for a sweet embrace, a chance to kiss her face

and trace long lines of lust. But time turns to dust

this wanton longing fantasy of a deadhead fallacy.

“I love the smell of fresh coffee in the morning,” I say.

“It smells like… like victory.” Smell delicious hickory.

“One day this world will end,” I, for effect, pause to send.

My cup cools towards a feeling as my mind begins reeling

from the sudden arrival of morning light and my survival

On the alter of a sweet dream of silk and lace of subtle green,

Of tangled limbs and bottled films, of chance now throttled

In a pagan pursuit of peace smeared with coaxial grease

And running, running here, looking there for hope come near,

For something ever lost and never found in time’s frost

On frozen ground by the sound of hooves as horses pound

Towards me and I see, above the parapet of work the sea,

Greens and blues that shimmer silver turning up to glimmer

Sweet, sweet sweat of love on the deck of vessels above

The deep dark depths of my imagination, and now I cry

With new born eyes while time severs dreamt hollow ties

And in dark morn I rise, then to life I go and again reprise.

 

 

Malek Montag,

Rochester, 2016

 

Follow me on Twitter @Malek_Montag15

 

Picture Credit: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/75/a1/e6/75a1e6798ec06f71346d124d6975e4f2.jpg

About malekmontag

I am a writer and a wage-slave, and proud father of George Giraffe. I live in the UK, but I exist everywhere. My first stories were published this year (2016) in Short Stories and Tall Tales (Atla Publishing). Follow me on Twitter @Malek_Montag15. My Work is also available on Niume.com.
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