The idea for this poem was to have Metaphor itself tied to a chair and tortured with bad writing. I have a feeling the bad writing comes through, but the meta-metaphor and overall conceit for the poem may be lost. But I guess writing is, in a sense, experimental, even if it isn't falsifiable. So, whatever, here is the poem.

Tortured Metaphor

 

Every rendition begins with shackles,

And a stormy journey to a dark room,

With bare and barren light.

A stark chair, a waterboard,

And the music of despair.

A flight of fancy,

A descent into Hell,

A begrudging truth revealed,

And a prisoner unable to yield.

How, from such heights,

Can an Allegory tumble

To such disrepair?

The prisoner rocks the boat,

And attempts to weather the storm

As loose cannons are tossed about

On a stormy sea.

But perhaps it’s better

Than a metaphor

Unleashed, a scar

On the face of

Tranquility.