The Lord of the Flies

what stokes you,
and those wild flames
blazing and crackling
and taunting you from within?
what holds you in
its deathly grip,
luring you to climb slowly
to that pinnacle
of death and life,
to that one point
where you come on,
when you feel truly alive?
what whips you
and threshes you
like those ears of corn
harvested whole,
and still not quite enough?
what feeds your hunger
as you grope and prowl
to devour anything
that threatens you
or steps on your toes?
what possesses you
as you speak and stand
like a hammered nail,
in front of a world
that doesn't listen to your story?
what circles you
and squeezes your insides,
as you spew your venom
and puffs of smoke
where you are simply dusted off?
what thrills you and fills you,
as you ride those cresting waves,
never wanting to rest
on the silent, restful shore?
what makes your blood rush
to every cell, every pore,
as you get turned on
by that irresistible reverie
exploding into you?
what churns your breath and blood,
swallowing you whole
into those dark waters,
of what you must leave behind?
what pricks you, and stabs you
on your bruised skin,
as your eyes come alive
with all the pain and gore?
what moves you, owns you,
drives you, feeds you
and your every move,
as you step into a world
of earthly, unearthly desires?
the wild ride into the world
of feelings,
the primal call to slip into your skin,
where you cannot hide,
where you cannot step aside,
where you can only live
and feel and think and create,
from what stirs and grows
deep inside.
The Lord of the Flies.