Rhyme Spitting Dragons

A poem about rhymes and the dragon inside a poet that is burning to escape.

Image Credit: 
© 2016 KisameArt / Used With Permission

I started to worry about sharing my thoughts.
They are nothing spectacular,
No exclusive reports.
They are usually quite tedious
Yet macabre in a way.
Yet effectively camouflaged
In a clandestine kind of way.
So as a series of synapses all flash and then die,
Hiding themselves in my lives gone by.
Did I just think that?
I can’t remember.
It’s like a part-time recovery from a full-time bender.
Now if I don’t understand every single thought pattern
Then it would all be pointless and never happen.
So some say I’m hard work
And I’m a tad too much.
So I bid them farewell,
Goodbye and such.
Too much for you?
Then how do you think I feel?
I’m sentenced
To twenty four hours a day with me
No parole or rights to appeal.
You are warm in your bubbles
Where everyone is just like you,
But I’m not of your ilk
I’m harder to relate to.
Our differences may be miniscule
But I’m still a world away.
I am isolated
Left languished
And alone in my head again today.
Now the real shame in this is I can write
And rhyme,
Then my mind turns and I miss my time to shine.
So if you have a solution
Go ahead
I’m all ears.
I gave up looking after twenty-odd years.
But I don’t need a solution,
Just a break from this pollution
And its constant intrusion
Into my daily constitution.
Its only weapon is confusion
So it leaves no contusions,
Meaning proof is in short supply.
It’s using my mind as its alibi,
And you wonder why I look to the sky.
Empathy is sometimes the only ingredient needed.
It was needed when I fought and nearly succeeded,
But that’s the fight fought out of me
And I’m left sick and tired.
I’m sick of being me and I’m tired of being tired.
This really should end and I think its best,
As I make time
To rest my head on Mother Nature’s breast.
But I can’t stop now
I’m bubbling over and over.
If you really want to see this
Then I’ll show you.
I will give you a view
Of the demons that plague my mind,
But if I do
There’s a chance of becoming one of my kind.
And I wouldn’t want that to happen
So pay heed and take care.
And I hope you have got a lot of nice friends,
Because a lot of nice friends turn their backs
Out there.
So I feel better about finishing
And ending this rhyme now,
But all reason escapes me and I start to wonder
How did I get to be here
In front of my creative peers?
When for years I’ve been unheard,
And it burns and sears deep,
As I retreat to the sanctuary of sleep.
But like a dragon that spits
Rhymes instead of flames,
I’m not looking for celebrity,
Fortune or fame.
I’m just looking for the cure for what’s incurable,
I’m not durable
But I feel that pull.
Always tugging me to normal.
Whose normal?
Yours or mine.
The difference is so small,
But when you look so tall,
I’m almost invisible.
I’m formed from what’s torn from unreasonable,
The unfeasible.
Is being me achievable?
Am I believable?
So I stay alone and in fairness,
I just couldn’t care less.
But when my mind comes and visits me
We can share what we see,
But when it leaves
I’m alone it’s just me.
Me and my mind on the short journey,
Where the views aren’t of the mountains
Or the sea.
They are just shades of grey,
And I don’t mean the kinky kind.
Just shades of grey
On this and every other side.
So as my hand grows tired
Too tired to write
And I approach that bright light,
I’m nearly there,
Then it disappears somewhere,
To a land where no one shares
Where I’m left in my own care
And I’m devoid
Of the senselessness that transported me there.
But like a phoenix from the flames
I am back again.
Transcended onto a different plane from you
Because I’m your answer too.
I’m just a tool you choose not to use
Instead you abuse your rights as my muse.
But now it’s my turn to choose.
It’s always
Heads you win and tails I lose.

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Poet Stefan Gambrell, also known as the Neanderthal Bard, has been tearing it a new arsehole for the last few years.

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