The On Going

August 10, 2012

This thing this pain, it appears deeply ingrained The binging of Manischewitz, grape concord please. The numbing out the inner scream and shout. The anger within and without. I withhold nothing as I lay bare in a nauseated ache. I cannot relate nor can I initiate self control once I am in this state. It’s the on going It’s the inevitable emotional replay It’s the sound of the old movie projector clicking in the mind. From start to finish its all mine. The reel appears to never end. The images of havoc and chaos. The men on top of me, The raping of me out of existence. The smothering of sin Uncontrolled desire. Men and their need to conspire- The raping of me. The image of St. Anthony dangling on a gold chain The Holy witness But no help or assistance. It’s the on going Me on my knees Suffocating and choking on extremities Self has melted away and now nothing remains Broken beyond repair I still smell them in the air It’s the on going The tattered remains of a damaged wing Still pushes to fly To breath To live To love And so I continue to sing… Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna Hare Hare Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama Hare Hare And I breath. It’s the on going. Again. Photo: Lisa Rene Mella-Ducos

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Lucian A. Sperta

Published Author and Poet over 25 books in paper back and digital books Selected American Library Association 2015 Model Citizen 2013 Writer of the Month Meridan 1989 American Society of Authors Composers and Publishers since 1994 #8 Hot Top 100 Hot New Release in Poetry #1 Best in Photo Essay Amazon.com Some people think I expose myself too much in what I say in my poems, I don't consider myself a poet as much as I feel I am a story teller, how can one write subjected to other peoples point of view on how I write, what I write, and how I express myself. This is my journey and self expression is how I choose to deal with it; words, writing has been the outlet where I control without fear, without shame, the pen and paper will never betray you. A poet is one, I believe, can take a surgical scalpel to the soul and let it bleed what it truly feels.....

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Comments (1)

jwienerAug 12, 2012

In this poem you speak about not only how life can feel repetitive, but how this is something negative because it seems like horrid things repeat themselves more than good ones. I really like the lines "It’s the sound of the old movie projector / clicking in the mind" because I could actually hear that constant, repetitive sound and it really brought together the poem for me.