The story starts here on a dead lonely street,
our blue houses black in the street lights defeat
but my father's cigarettes should still light the way
to keep us all up, past the dawn of the day.
Lessons were learned with a tangible whip
which always came quick with my words being quip,
but abuse is a monument which I bare to the sea,
of people who always looked straight up to me.
So I would thrive on the lives of a collage of a court
by making up lies in the name of my sport
which was selling my story to the court's queen,
but it ended when I grew up. Fourteen or Fifteen.
I was there in the wake of the sun and a son
my father the latter, his burdens, a ton
I still remember flying and fleeing my fears
but three months had seemed like a million years
I'd been beaten and drugged, abandoned for good
You broke me and you'd take it back if you could
but now I'm in love with my boxed up past
the violence, the scenes, the dramatic cast
Now I'm writing one of the last letters that I'll write to you
so when you're reading, I'm not sure if you'll know what to do
As I comfortably live in my shackles and chains
just know that I'll live and love, but all in your name.
Sincerely,
Christopher
Author notes
Written November 5th, 2006
A contest entry
- 2nd Year Anniversary by brittany.geeze.
400 points, ended November 19, 21 entries
• next poem in this contest, • Add to finalists list, or remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
1 - 13 of 13
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chris, you really are the most amazing writer i've ever seen. this poem is moving to the point of tears. i love it more than i could ever express in words.
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Effing Awesome.
I love it. I really don't know what to say, though, as I'm still a little befuddled from earlier tonight. We probably shouldn't go there.
The most, I lovedlovedloved these parts:
The story starts here on a dead lonely street,
our blue houses black in the street lights defeat
but my father's cigarettes should still light the way
to keep us all up, past the dawn of the day.
and:
I was there in the wake of the sun and a son
my father the latter, his burdens, a ton
I still remember flying and fleeing my fears
but three months had seemed like a million years
But the ending is great. Excellent write.
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Wow, this is really good. Seriously powerfully written. I love the rhyming. You did a great job. I liked too many parts to try to name them.
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THANK YOU!
Thank you so much for the comment! It really is assuring to have someone tell you they enjoy your writing. Good luck with yours in the future and feel free to come check out my other writes.
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Interesting, a bit obscure at first read..
I haven't read any of your works before, so I'm new to your style.I am interested to look into your collection...you hace an interesting approach...Babs Dee
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Feel free...
Feel free to read up on my some of my better works. I suggest;
"On the Lake"
"Chris Sicard and the Terrible Beast"
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I understand, Chris. I never saw Moulin Rouge, but I understand the reference.
I hope your muse rises and you are able to write more often...though I'm going through that same phase myself. I have you on my FAV-List though, so I'm sure to come by anything new you may post, and I'm hoping you do!
Jo -
Jo, I wrote this to someone very close to me, who I've given the name Satine, in reference to Nicole Kidman's character in the movie Moulin Rouge. Satine being pronounced (Sateen). I'm glad you came by to read this, as I haven't written anything in such a long time.
In a sense that this is one of the last letters I'm writing for this person, it does give the feeling of detachment. And the angst of not having a family would give off the cold feeling. I really am happy that you stopped by. I hope to hear back from you.
Chris -
This is one of the deepest and most powerful poems I have ever written of yours, Christopher. The images you have written here are chilling and leaving me feeling that "cold" and "detached" sense. It's to know this poem is so personal to you, yet is so relateable to others as well.
Only curious and you need not answer, but is the Author's Comment reference a play on the name of "Satan?" Somehow it feels to be after the reading of this poem, but I hate to presume.
Jo -
This is so sad to me. The line "now I'm writing one of the last letters that I'll write to you" makes me so hurt.. why would it be the last? is this a punishment poem/letter? the begning saddens me, like i should have been there more... even way back... i would if i could have... and i want you to know that.... sorry i dont mean to rant on and on.. but the last line is screaming romance, and YOU scream it as well. love you forever =)
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hey this was so passionate the way u wrote it i loved it ur a wonderful poet. always and forever mindyjo
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such passionate writing! ~tips her hat to you respectfully~ you are a true poet indeed
~Proxi <3 -
moving
chris.. wow. this is passionate and powerful, as are all your writes. this piece though was different. the feeling behind it was different. i can't even pick a favorite line from this.. to choose one would take the light from another, and to do that would be a sin - this was absolutely amazing. take care, keep on keepin on laterz.
--hands in da pants girl
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