Why do I not dance
to the bidding rhythms
of the frenzied drummers in my chest?

Why do I throw the
javelin at the harpist
to keep the music?
Why do I turn
to prison bars what
will make his strings?

I have held up the dagger
awaiting the frantic bleating
of an oxen in the thicket
My Isaac dies
I will not live half-way home

What feeds this fire -
this ashes from all
the toys I toiled to abide
my bosom?

Why do I flee my reflection
on filthy rags
upon the Holy Writ?
Why do I find
the cracks it seeks to fill up
the tomb?

Why do I love the
feel of the chains around my ankles, wrists?
Why do I feel undone
when the man comes with a saw?

Why do I choke my fool
at the feet of wisdom
by holding tightly the scroll
of a man?
How do I find my way?

Why do I dig up fallen stars
to name after
a broken man under a cross
that isn't mine to die on?

- Martins Deep

Click Here to get a FREE copy of the #PunPoetryAnthology

Enjoyed reading? Commenting is now easy. 
I introduced Facebook Comment feature. 
Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!