How I Got This Way
Uneasy in the company of friends,
I felt no better sitting by myself;
Improving means had not improved the ends.
So I took Walden from my bedside shelf,
And on page nine, I nodded off at last—
And dreaming, met the spirit of Thoreau.
The specter spread his arms and cried,
“Avast!
Oh, why so seeming fast but deadly slow?
You lead a life of quiet desperation—
But if you look about you, you will find
Pasture enough for your imagination!
Go out, and try to hear what’s in the wind!”
So I awoke, wrapped in a reverie,
And went to seek the things I could not see.
Visitation
An unfamiliar sound disturbed my sleep—
And as I drew the curtains from my brain,
I there beheld a sight to make one weep:
The orphaned thought of some forgotten pain.
I knew her cherub face, but though I tried,
I could not couple it with any name.
And when I bade her speak, she only cried;
I felt her grief, but knew not whence it came.
Then nameless woe gave way to formless Fear—
I said to it, “If God has banished you
Once from my mind, you are not welcome here.
In His name, leave me now!”
It turned and flew
On wings of unaccountable despair,
With horns protruding from its golden hair.
Benjamin Daniel Lukey lives in Monroe, North Carolina. He teaches high school English classes whenever he is not fishing or writing poetry. His work has previously appeared in The Road Not Taken, Adelaide Literary Magazine, Torrid Literature Journal, and other publications. More of his poems can be found at hellopoetry.com/bdlukey.