~Letters from the Monastery of My Heart: VIII~

By WordWulf, 27th Feb 2011 | Follow this author | RSS Feed | Short URL http://nut.bz/18c5k_2f/
Posted in Wikinut>Writing>Letters

~drifting down that rat hole~he don’t want to go there alone~so he invents superman~trades women sex for drugs~gets the boys that way too~the world is his his stage is his world~everybody wants to see it~make him run~run away~die rockstar die~

~Letters from the Monastery of My Heart: VIII~

~Angels Run Away~

~Angels Run Away~

Is it only our lives slipping away or some inconceivable broken covenant made with Gods come to punish our lies as we struggle with our dragons, harm those nearest our hearts and homes. Is any future worth the destruction of moment, a process whereby seeking we throw it away.

Last night I slept with you, woman, experienced a connection of spaces, armor set aside, traded for skin on skin, become one complete, whole again. As I drove away, my mind retreated to a forest, to a canyon, where I heard your voice first and stared into the reflection of lightning in your eyes.

Reality is the gallows of hope, a death sentence to all inhabitants of dreams. He said life was supposed to be fun, the puppet-master, thief of souls whose strings labeled, “dainty delights” were tripwires opening drop-doors to the dungeons of fun seekers’ hearts.

When I discovered you no longer cared, I offered myself in stead of the murderer, stood resolute before the firing squad, life, metal on metal, click, ready, aim. I smiled beneath the blindfold. Bullets cannot break a broken heart. God damn all governors and their pardons.

No prayers aloud in this room, always, forever, the whispered lies born desperate, denied asylum. I left my child’s eyes underneath the bed baptized in splashes of mother’s blood. Each night alone is a fresh haunting, a crippled man in a crooked room.

The boy is afraid of chickens and spiders in the outhouse hole. Voices laughing into his blind eye face
became the home of the impossible dream where the woman would come to hold him/me tight against her breast, keep him/me safe from myself. Angels run away, angels run away.

~Tom (WordWulf) Sterner~
~Letters from the Monastery of My Heart: VII~
~For Madmen Only~
~Alms for the Digger~

Meet the author

WordWulf
Tom Sterner lives in Redding, California and Arvada, Colorado with wife Kathy. He has been published in numerous magazines and on the internet, including Howling Dog Press/Omega, Skyline Literary Review, The Storyteller, and Flashquake. His interne...(more)