Soapbox Poet

Executing the Executionist (a poem)

a hazy dream

with a swift execution,

plays chess with memories

I thought I stored away long ago.

As the pieces march toward their opponent

I run; I run into black holes and concrete walls,

constantly feeling as though I’m stuck between a

rock and a hard place. But somewhere in this hellfire

I found a light, and the polished pawn of opposing

forces decided to let up a little. I let the light in,

and when I did, life got warmer. The leaves

perked up a bit. The wounds scabbed up,

and sprouts began to grow. I found life

in cozy corners and abrupt knocks.

Familiar faces and various versions

of laughs only make it brighter.

It’s bright again, and the stay

of execution lives to see

another day. A hazy

dream, a game of

chess, it’s all just

calculated… random.