Helpless, Useless, Scarecrow

By Shannan

Wed, 07 Oct 2015
  • 779 reads
4 comments
 

Helpless, Useless, Scarecrow

 

I’ve become a defunct scarecrow:

Fear relentlessly perching on my being,

Building nests

In emptied pockets.

 

Wooden arms,

Silent voice,

Helpless;

As crows gather in their dozens:

Their weight

Starting to break

All of me;

Snapping the brittle bones

Of my remains.

 

My once useful head,

Now mere perching ground.

 

As crows suffocate me

Claustrophobic panic

SCREAMS silently.

With no-one to hear.

Desperate pleas to escape from hell.

 

The farmer left.

Desertion drafted crows.

They will not leave me.

They want their revenge. 

Certificate PG
Poem
Poetry
Horror

Comments

Submitted by Rhiannonw on

Oh, Shannan, you're not feeling like this at present are you? 'The farmer's left' sounds like a feeling of desertion by God, but he's always there to draw near to. Are you able to get to gather with other Christians yet? love, Rhiannon

 

Submitted by Shannan on

Thanks so much for your kind and concerned comment, apologies for my tardy response, but life really has been more stressful for me of late, so hence very little writing or poetry :( Nevertheless, what a blessing to be able to interact with poets via this site and work through the new meanings created through the Reader Response Theory and open up the differences between reader interpretation and writer intention/meaning. Indeed, things are not nearly well again on my front, but after 7 years of double/triple whammies at regular intervals, I’m coasting until some sense can be made of it all. No friends of mine can figure out how / or why these continual struggles won’t end, although I’m sure many people can hypothesise...
I'm posting a longer reply as an entry - please read it following this poem on my page, as my response is a little too long for this reply section ...

Thanks ;-)

 

Submitted by Bee on

Hi Shannan.

I really got the claustrophobia and helplessness against forces beyond the narrators control, that seems to come from somewhere deep within - the feeling of a struggle no longer worth the fight. Hope the fighting spirit returns in future poems. Will watch for more. 

x

Bee

Submitted by Shannan on

Rereading this poem... there's so much truth in it as things have gone even more out of my control... but I'm beginning to believe that it's really been a spiritual journey to trust God with my life, because earthly people and things are so temporary, so inconstant and often, not through a pin-pointable-fault or anything 'wrong', by circumstances, just unable to help or be there... We are all only human :)

God's bringing some oxygen into the claustrophobia through the revelations ;)

Stay fabulous, trust you are keeping well and loved

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