:: Delirium ::

Need

My need to run is a sardonic gospel,
Signed with black-bloodied ink,
Indignant lines of crippled
Hieroglyphics.

The fever of grander, greener promises
Kindle and ferment within―
I become a watchful, vagrant eye,
Blinking blind.

I remember the warcry of fellow rebels
Did they fall and fail―
Did their visions waste―
Or did they dream their dreams alive?

What am I―now―and what are you
Fetid prisoners of our own fallacies.
My need to run is a spine-splintering disease,
Left to dry in midnight sun.