Biographical Poetry posted March 13, 2014 |
Thank God chicks dig scars. ;)
An Unfinished Man
by Marillion
Sleep-drugged and dull, I watch the ceiling fan, The slow propellers of a nowhere man Forever grinding as I stir and wake Beneath the feather-breeze — a ghostly chill. I rise, accustomed to the daily ache (Reminder of a road-rashed Harley spill). The bathroom mirror waits, a friend of youth. Its light emits a harsh, fluorescent truth Without the shade that dims the jagged course Of blemishes obtained in foolish years. I press the tats and scars, recall each source, And trace the trophies earned (as souvenirs) For such activities as honor fights, The basal cell incisions, razor blights, And various and sundry scrapes or cuts Collected by a boy who challenged fate. However, wisdom clutched a share of guts, And as I aged I cauterized the trait Of sprinting recklessly with blow-torch eyes, Exhaling hell-for-leather battle cries Which, voiced with wild abandon, lacked technique, But when impinged with cause, became a roar. I rub each scar, remember, smile, and speak Of perfect imperfections — give me more. |
Recognized |
Iambic pentameter with an AABCBC rhyme scheme. As so often happens, a lot my ideas come while laying in bed and watching the ceiling fan keep time. I used the image once already, and couldn't help but use it again.
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