Confession Of A Crocodile

When I was a bomb,
I destroyed though
I longed to build; instead
I gutted and burned and 
swept away.

When I was a bayonet,
I couldn’t imagine how
I had happened — how
I’d found myself
at barrel’s end, how
I stuck, how I was freed
with a blast right after.

When I was poison
I slept uneasily, like an empty coffin;
when I was a guillotine,
I felt a breeze sift that hair
as it tumbled down.

I used to pretend to be
oblivious to myself as damage
but truth be told: it has always been 
my entire being and life to be
utterer of death
in order to preserve myself…

so I weep and gnash my teeth
and wash my hands of
generations of stains, 

all while
never moving from

my throne.

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

2 responses to “Confession Of A Crocodile

  • Eileen

    Once, I began hemorrhaging during an operation. I was awake with a spinal anesthetic. Then the usually very calm doctor began yelling for things, and someone knocked over the glass IV and it broke. Soon, I could hear glass crunching underfoot as people began scurrying around. Next the iron bar holding a green sheet up to block my view of the surgery fell over on my nose. Pretty soon, I began to feel all my strength draining out. Luckily, I had recently experienced a conversion to faith in a God of unconditional love after years of agnosticism. So, though I felt sure I was dying, I didn’t feel afraid. However, there were 18 medical students in the operating room watching the surgery, so I did feel like my death was turning into a three stooges act. I did mention to God, that I would have preferred to go out with a little dignity. Then it occurred to me that a lot of my life had seemed like a three stooges act, so perhaps this was appropriate, which hit me as funny. About then they got things replaced and got the bleeding stopped. I suspect my surgeon didn’t feel too good about the three stooges’ experience either. So, at that time, being loved trumped fear. Another time when we lived so far out in the country the Ambulance got lost when responding to our 911 call. My husband was experiencing Anaphylactic shock. He was gray, seemed comatose, and neither my neighbor nor I could feel a pulse or breath. A sense of peace came over me and I stopped panicking. The EMT’s finally got there and he made it to the hospital. But he stayed gray in the ICU and more or less comatose all night as I sat on the floor in the room with him. An incredible sense of love for him, that took me out of my usual neediness, gave me a simple knowing that all would be well no matter what happened. I feel like that is what Paul meant when he wrote that Love casts out fear. Either way…being loved or loving.
    Needless to say, I haven’t managed faith in perfect love every day in the many years since, but those two experiences have definitely made a difference and have given me recourse to a better way to deal with my tendency to be fearful than hate.

    Sorry, my comments are getting longer than your posts. I promise to try to say less. Well, most of the time anyway. 🙂

  • Eileen

    I have spent my whole life afraid. Afraid of everything, life itself. The only times I have felt free enough of fear to actually feel powerful is when I have gotten angry enough to hate. Then I feared nothing. It was a great feeling, until I recognized that was more dangerous than any of the other things I fear.

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