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Short Stories
Paul Michael Stafford
Paul Michael Stafford's Biography
desert Storm
In the wilderness of my life,
The whirling dust storm is my wife;
I am married to it as blade to knife.
The road ahead is never clear,
I am being thrown around, no-where,
Everywhere, anywhere, tearing out my hair.
The callous cacti is my occupation,
A sign of hope in the desolation.
For blood, sweat and tears, some consolation,
As I try to climb the spines to success,
My hands cut, heart punctured, such bitterness,
Never quite making it, always sliding into stress.
The menacing vulture is my motivation,
Waiting for me to fall to society's victimisation,
Hoping that to survive is not my inclination.
I refuse to give in, to give it the satisfaction,
As it circles up above, I give no reaction,
Forging always onward, ignoring the distraction.
The ice of the night and the heat of the day,
The contrast that forms my inspirational duality,
Keeping me sane, safely away from the grip of insanity.
The mirage is my visionary dreams,
Showing me all is not what it seems,
Taking me on a journey of opposite extremes.
The oasis is my momentary clarity,
Giving me the time for emotional charity,
And makes me realise I am not out of warranty.
Plenty more miles on this clock,
My head not resting on the chopping block,
This horse is free, not trapped in a paddock.
Copyright © Paul M Stafford 2001
