Fear’s boney fingers
flex at the edge of dreams.
that catch and cleave
to the mind’s ivory tower
by mortared seams.
Wresting free from psyche’s moat
secret sins from murky graves do float
and sail again the swamp of stagnant hope.
Sins long banished to this deafening isle
where in anguish the siren screams for toll.
A sacrifice of masculine fears
(betraying a trace of weakness here)
sends withered seeds in waves to crash
against her battered shore.
Oh, to breathe in abstinent air once more!
Perish the flesh,
no want to dream,
nor spark remain to flash, nor rise
from innocence’ ash,
the fire dies.
Perish the Flesh can Be found in the darker side of poetry by SS Matthews. Available at Amazon 5/2/2014