It’s Hell in Here

By on Sep 12, 2011 in Poetry

It's Hell in Here graphic

I climb to the top of the high tower,
peer down at the bucket of water below.
Yes, I could dive, down, down, down,
into those few inches of liquid and survive.
But the daredevil adventure
doesn’t say enough about me,
so I descend the ladder
to the disappointed sneer of crowds.
Same with the thin wire stretched between skyscrapers.
Oh I could walk across it all right,
on one leg if I had to.
And riding a barrel over the falls…
as easy as driving to the corner shop for bread.
Jump canyons on my motor-cycle…
not a problem.
Dive through fiery hoops…
with my eyes closed.
But I’m out to white water raft
down a raging river of blood.
I long to spelunk in the intestine,
scale the wall of guts.
And parachute into a brain sure,
while hacking at the feasting thoughts.
The world around me is dangerous up to a point
but I stare long in a mirror,
eye-ball to eye-ball with a face
whose risks are infinitely greater.
I run the gauntlet in there
with no guarantee of my survival.
The heart of spears, the soul of swords…
and weary flesh to accommodate
these wounds where I live.


Passion Contents


John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. He was recently published in the Tau, Studio One and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Naugatuck River Review, Examined Life Journal and Midwest Quarterly.