Poetry
DeFoe, Mark
Mark DeFoe Hell It's the mind truth sears like a hot poker not our poor flesh. The lasting agony of everlasting fire is memory. Our lives twist on the grill. We're the jokers in silly aprons...
...We're the jokers in silly aprons basting our own hearts, blackening them over embers of sorrow, garnished with joys put off until tomorrow, hopes we maimed, dreams we never let start...
...Those we betrayed provide the endless flame.ame...
...And regret, what might have been, chews our cinder souls...
...Our past is the beast who comes to turn us on the spit of shame...
...Every innocent we blamed now comes to feast, gnaw our guilt...
...We stew, stink of the sin of words not spoken...
Vol. 117 • September 1990 • No. 16
