poetry by
Kay Kimbrell-Gunton



The awakening slap across my face undoubtedly erased the pretense of bliss
In this misused doll.
Broken body marred with scars;
Metallic-liquid tar leaking from my lips
Are proof-positive pain exists heartily.
Craving inane drifting from one reality into yet another dream,
I scream until my voice fails to respond.
Pondering air, I stare into my hands hating them for what they dare obtain and remain
Persecuted in Solitude.
Internal feuds abate and I wait
Upon the soporific surface of Fantasy's fallacy
Hoping to drown.



Cold steam compression releases gas as a sulphuric songbird
Demonstrating my digestion of past annihilations.
History is the power of the hour.
Acidic prayers released into air are exhibitions of inner constructive Destruction.
Filtered haze and strung-out days of bliss
Hit or miss in my memory's keepsake box.
Swallowed pain staves the pangs of hunger but does not sustain me.
Regular feedings are required to silence this wailing cry rising from the crib.
The marrowed yellow of boned skin
Shows the infinitely empty infant within and cannot be filled with any offered meal.
Confession and exploration reveal 'surface' injuries which can heal
Yet the real damage is insipid vastness
Spreading faster than a cancerous rampage
Raging outwardly like fire burning all that is near.


In the day's soft wing and prayer time,
I find that my eye has opened wide.
Revealing my fragile side that spies on all of the pain in the world...
I am suddenly unfurled and riddled with chaos
As realizations come.
Life is not about "me" as everyone believes,
It's about being the relief that others really need.
The sadness in all of us can be washed away,
If we reach out our hands for the tears of another's day.


viewzone || poetry || comments or submissions? || Rate: