Bipoetic Senses

they are never going to go away:

this self-written play, this deaf dialogue
this feeling which unbalances my attitude -
between myself - my outer face ...
and my inner reflection for others to see;

this cry for salvation, this sigh for hatred,
this drought which leaves holes in my flesh -
between myself - my outer hands ...
and my inner grasps for others to touch;

this false moment for peace, this trivial ache,
this jealousy which flavors the remorse -
between myself - my outer delicacies ...
and my inner thirst for others to taste;

this unbridled burden, this nervous failure,
this unarmed sanctuary which explains my fears -
between myself - my outer amphitheater ...
and my inner echoes for others to hear;

this hallway existence, this marketplace for disease,
this harvest wheelbarrow which consumes my faith -
between myself - my outer nostrils ...
and my inner rainstorm for others to smell.

"I am the poem that doesn't rhyme. Just turn back the page."-- Elton JohnVisit Christopher Stolle's Literary Home Page @http://php.indiana.edu/~cstolle