Philoi

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

He found he could not speak.  His voice box blurred.

The blur infected eyeballs so he could not see,

Like Saul upon the struck down road.  Tears furred

With sorrow blotted out the absentee

Called love but then they failed to fall away.

He held them back.  That voice which he had loved

Had sucked the oxygen away.  Hot spray

It choked his throat.  This Lucifer had shoved

Away all faith and dragged him steeply down

Like angels falling lunglessly to Hell,

So breathless he and they that all must drown

In dry ice pits where none could ever yell.

  “O, friends, there are no friends.”  Philosophy

    Lacks tongue.  It cannot find dawn’s breath to plea.

© Phillip Whidden