Poem - To Free the Prisoner, I Scaled the Citadel

Armed
With the Voluptuous Imagery of My Private Mythology,
to Free the Prisoner, I Scaled the Citadel

by Clover Kreger, written in Taipei, Taiwan

We had to leave it there. So unfinished. So tarnished.
An angry tangle of cross purposes and procrastinations,
a million things abandoned, unsaid, moments by-passed,
so many things subordinated in hopes of your salvation

By then I’d invented a private mythology to better explain,
to scorch into your memory the reality,
of the trauma your addiction caused, the pain
I endured. Innocently bystanding your self-induced anxiety

Remember that oft-repeated phrase? You can’t enjoy the picnic with all that excess baggage
Suitcases crammed with excuses, phobias and delusions
It took every last ounce of my endurance
to try and orchestrate a positive conclusion

I drew from an immensity of resources
a voluptuous visual imagery to illustrate the agony
The human spirit, arising from the depths, finally forces
aside the saboteurs, lusts to be free

You, there, with your underwater amusements,
dwelling down in the depths, fondling octopi
a societal untouchable, a miscreant,
no heart, all head and senses, intellectualizing ‘I’

occasionally fascinated by a sculling on the surface
or a poem delicately defining the dilemma, a different perspective
inexorably drawn from the depths to the surface
by a fleeting impulse to change, to live

in other than that underworld of flights and crashes
the lightning storms and bonfires and dense darkness
The addict, on the downswing, bashes
into any number of objects, and the starkness

of a human soul stripped of props; a cripple
divested of crutches, who clutches
at a vast void of desolation, heart full,
who strums the light fantastic, then retches

As another spectator at your destruction stated
the destitute man with a broken leg reaches
for help proffered by relatives
When one’s entire flotilla beaches

upon a foreign, indifferent shore
for whatever reason
and you can’t properly take care of yourself anymore
Forget your pride. Grasp the life raft. Emerge into the sun.

***
Pride fettered. You floundered in fear
Behind the psychic walls I banged my head on
allowing no human access. Don’t come too near!
Sadly, shame shackled; you tried to con

besotted me with that vast equipage of excuses
“I’m tired. I’ve had a bad day. I’ve a little cold.”
Subconsciously you realized, the fact is,
the illusion wore thin, the lies grew old

I muffled my ego, and set it to one side,
a fragile, thin-shelled entity often rejected,
chaffing in neglect and wounded pride,
which I would not involve, lest it sulk, dejected

in this matter of life and death, this battle of wits
But days passed, I must admit,
when I simply wasn’t up to it,
This anecdote succinctly illustrates one aspect of it:

“No, it wasn’t my husband who stopped my drinking,”
explained the vicar’s wife, “Oh no!
It was this remark, which set me thinking,
of the Indian shopkeeper, who asked

if he was so bad that I couldn’t make love to him sober
He, with his beautiful legs and brilliant smile, asked
if I had to be drunken in order to endure
the pleasing passion in which I basked –

so unlike my husband’s reserved advances.”
(That priggish aseptic sex of fidelity.)
In all our rare and frantic dances
you never once were there in sobriety

and looked a lion, tense and taut
thrusting to escape the boundaries
alas, excruciatingly hamstrung, always caught
in your ice-induced anxieties

I whispered my secrets, and introduced my theme song
In my poor voice I sang for you
the words I mouth to cope when things go wrong
“Oh, do you feel scared? I do,

but I won’t stop and falter”
(bravery in adversity, courage, clarity)
“If you throw it all away, things can only get better!”*
(have mercy on yourself, evoke personal charity)

for the befuddled being hunting pleasure
in a dose of that pernicious poison
of which a normal measure
gives a three-day run

Addiction: imagine an image of a ring
an enclosure, an embracing, perforce
a wall of ice, an evil thing,
yet, of all your moods and laughter, the source

You perpetually plunged back into the pit,
though the pleasure was played out,
You defecated on yourself – strange hedonist, in shit
Yet still struggling against being pulled out

I shimmered disturbingly outside the wall
bearing lust and love, demanding explanations
Most days you couldn’t bear my company at all
The vassal of the Ice Queen shuns

whomsoever deigns to criticize his mistress,
insist there is a better way,
or manifest noises of their distress
To dispense with pretenses, to lay

lovingly beside the temple, to gaze
straight into those dilated pupils
declaring, “This is not a phase,
but the source of all your ills.”

I was no grand Guardian Angel
My wings singed, I careened
precariously close to a type of hell
struggling with my own private fiend:

the Black Bat, a bleakness
When the beast’s in command I barely cope
shuttered off in darkness,
losing my grip on hope

I, when easy, a lioness
raging at the world in courageousness
shrink and stumble under grave duress
oppressed by the Black Bat; becoming, somehow, less

***
Holding up the sky
Sweet centre of the universe
A pillar essential to the entire structure, “I”
Egocentricity: alas, the addict’s curse

And under the surface bravado: self-loathing
Some days I listened to the lament, “I’m a wimp.”
Down and out. Kissing the concrete. Dressed in cast-off clothing
A pathetic vassal of the Ice Queen, and her pimp

And the Ice Queen gouged her sliver deep
You wouldn’t even try to break free
of that round of delirium, then two days of sleep
You could never, could you, my love, simply be there for me.

On your roller coaster there was a trio
of personality manifestations: the “braggart mode”
and the “caustic cynic” were the duo
which most often drove the bus you rode

Under the sway of burning patience
I awaited the “receptive phase”
which was ever there, if in abeyance
accessible on happy days

***
I was the alarm, the neighbourly wake-up call,
a shabby vigilante committee: bone-weary, bedraggled, spiritually dead
I fought frustratedly on – giving it my all
One day you laughed when I crowed you awake: I, alas, perpetually bled

When you begged for fifteen minutes more sleep
I had no choice but to sigh and agree
And return to find you equally deep
Speed abused you; and you abused me

I recall an image, a morning, gazing into the mirror at each other
You could see yourself and I could see you and you could see me
but I saw no reflection of self – I was the invisible lover
coming into view, then fading out of sight – and memory

But I couldn’t resist that Chesire Cat grin, so charming
How it lit up and lingered!
Frozen so magically, a little alarming
And those rare times, when you fingered. . .

Oh wizard of excuses to obfuscate. . .
How are you faring alone
without exaggerated pupils to captivate?
I gathered together the wreckage and shipped it home

A last word of love: don’t piss on today, bemoaning the past
Don’t regret the way you were: it’s washed away, forgiven
Just learn to value sobriety, at last
Become your own god: shining and shriven

Armed
With the Voluptuous Imagery of My Private Mythology,
to Free the Prisoner, I Scaled the Citadel

Disclaimer: The information at this website is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. Always seek the advice of your doctor with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. The content of this website comprises only the observations and opinions of the authors and contributors: it does not constitute medical advice to readers.