Such a wondrous, craving temple,
my body's open wound of wailing universe,
spilling dust to light in distance,
those specks of hope grown flat with dream,
willing bend to bow in silence,
calling every wilder emancipation,
I could not touch within your program.
Bare as banishment,
my non-assimilation,
for I am dazed
in craze of clever assassination,
my ring stained fingers, never's comfort
breathing ghost to gather past,
your spirit drifting quiz in syllabic channels.
Upon this snow-white page of pity,
this clammy season,
swelling cell,
when autumn drifts
to meadowed mist,
and wings are torn in hum less hymns,
parting cloudless lips
to muted dialect,
I scratch as chosen bird,
my name in dormant, earthen offerings,
a sacrificial soul, sold at cost
in strange tradition,
stripped, and tired of base emotion,
tied to fleshy spires
where rock breaks skin to bleed in time,
this quiet place, I came to find me.
A contest entry
- Alone by Timothy Cameron.
525 points, ended November 4, 2007, 22 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
kaibab
Thank you for your submission to my contest. Much appreciated. Poetic shards. -
Soon you will rise to a new dawn in the Rockies, where fall and winter are a revolving door of days for a only a little while longer before winter stays, as I know it has already visited.
I'm not always understanding the sacrifices fall's color concedes to winter's white or the hollows of bones that seem songless, but not empty, for they yet weep dusty tears.
But I do know that where your name is signed in earthen offering, there too will be a bit of heaven and I've no deeper to look for the music than the heart of a quiet man.
~ Thank you, Rich.
-
There is such a sense of solitude about this poem and you wrote it so very well, yet I also find in it a contemplation, and acceptance of what is and where the road led you. Don't we all know this place that somehow finds us? Wonderful poetry, my friend.
~ Nicolette
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