The Last Resort

Kia Ora,

Here is one of my many new poems I have been working on. This one I actually wrote today, but I think the first draft is pretty decent. I hope you feel the same.

The Last Resort

I blink
Slowly
My eyes closed
I see paintings
On the backs
Of my eyelids

Long yellow waves
Of the farmers handiwork
And the yellow leaves
Kissing their families goodbye
As they finally let go
And fall to the Earth

And I too feel a desire
To let go
The sweat soiling my hard work
The ink of education smeared
By the masses of fluid I expel
What is the point?
Why are the words important
If you can’t even read them?

So I run through the fields
I run toward the sun
And feel it burn my face
For at least it’s outside
It’s the external that burns
And mends
And heals

I pack a bag
I’m going on vacation
To the last resort

Hours and days
Of the glowing tube
On my face
That burns me with radiation
And denial

And my ears
Doomed to the elderly phrasings
Of incomprehension
As I bob my head
And hope my muscles ache
To the beats in my skull
And the tears on my face

And I breathe in
The dusty smell of the old pages
From the 19th century
That may as well have been written
For my heart alone
As I hope you, dear reader
Feel about me
And I fear that final page
That final song of parting
That will inevitably leave me
Alone again

Locked outside of the resort
I lost my key
So I break a window
And I cut my leg
Climbing through

I listen to the old words
The gasped mutterings
And the giggled musings
As I forget the lectures
The stern looks
And the unwanted books

It’s getting late
And real estate
Is an empty plate
So, please come and stay
With me
At the last resort

But just know
If you come
And stay
You have to help me

October 29, 2014
New Zealand

Cheers,

Clayton