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Sidewalk Chalked

of scribbles and sanity

By Jacob ShermanPublished 4 years ago • Updated 4 years ago • 1 min read
Sidewalk Chalked
Photo by Verena Hehn on Unsplash

Step, step,

stumble.

Step, step,

stumble.

Who paved this path?

Upon whose sagging shoulders

may I lay the blame

for my spectacularly lame

rate of progression?

Stimulated by aggression,

a simulated impression

of a bloodhound prosecutor

erupts from my tangled throat.

The accusations, mangled, float

discordantly —

soundwaves hobbling on broken legs

with a bone to pick,

alone and strict

as stone, so sick

with fecklessness and rage.

A reckless hemophage,

I dodge, duck and weave

accountability like a plague,

fragility and vagueness

the rusted girders of my abrasive,

glass abode.

A loaded gun,

imploded sun,

ego bloated, shunned

by rationality.

Harsh reality,

an asteroid impact,

shatters the lonesome void, intact

is everything —

where once the very foundations

were hollow, hungry chasms,

explosive revelation and the reactionary spasms

beat the earth into existence.

A sudden world unfurled

seductively,

in rippling, concussive blasts.

Out from the cheerless

concrete walkway,

peerless, complete hallways

of verdant wilderness

yawn a simple, unmistakable message:

"Enter!"

A step off the tired path

into epiphany's aftermath

is as a frigid morning bath

to a clouded mind.

A shock to the body,

taking stock of the soul

as possibilities unfold

which had lain hidden behind fear.

Grinding gears

drink up fresh oil,

activating a mortal Tesla coil.

Cold and sleeping steel

brought abruptly to electrifying life.

The petrifying strife

of the past

encased in stubborn geodes,

crystalized and tamed.

Calcified, the blame game

has lost all

self-imagined potency,

my inner argument

at last grasps cogency

as hate stops making sense.

Then love starts making cents

and squirreling them to dollars,

until I'm sitting atop

an inexhaustible stash

of unconditional compassion

and I've forgotten

what I was angry about.

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About the Creator

Jacob Sherman

The desire to read, and perhaps to write, should be cultivated and nurtured with care throughout every stage of life. For my part I will inject what strangeness and truth that I can into our written history. Expect no constants but honesty.

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    Written by Jacob Sherman