It was a Saturday, an evening darkened by a lack of moon.
The silvered crescent grasped at the charcoal sky desperately as we sat.
I had painted you vaguely, and very unflattering.
I pressed down on the wood with my palms,
sighing deeply as you leaned against the chipping paint.
I looked at your face- it was old, weathered,
laughter hadn't made those lines, I had.
Why are you old,
while I am young?
I try to ask, but I have forgotten how;
how to ask a question?
I have forgotten words, and syllables and emphasis-
I never knew them to begin with...
It was Saturday, a dull sunrise- quick and empty;
I grabbed your hand and felt your age-
you never looked up, not even for a second.
My face is close to your ear,
I scream into the drum- I am the voice;
I am completely
silent.
You run into the grass and roll under the evergreens,
the needles cling to your wool sweater-
I walk to the edge of the dock, old...like you....
crooked and smiling.
You call out;
I am younger than these trees, and older than these needles-
but both are part of me, as you will never hope to be.
I did not pose for your canvas, or emerge from your eyes,
I was born in the trunk of this forrest,
the seed of a mighty oak-
I am not your muse, you are mine.
I consumed the leaves of Eden, and gave birth to your body,
I moulded your face from the Tree's apple.
The dock creaked under my weight...
I look back at you, but you cannot see me anymore-
you are watching that dull sunrise; rehearsing your lines;
why are you old?
You are old because I painted you that way,
I am young because you wrote my life without time; a perpetual curse.
We are chained to our art,
to each other.
One nor the other understood, or remembered, who had created the other.
Author notes
Which came first...the chicken or the egg?
In a list
A contest entry
- AP Nemesis by Umi Juvariel.
600 points, ended February 13, 18 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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It won't let me add these
So I will do it here instead
I completely over-looked it
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This is awesome.
Now see, I think this is like a poetry of all of it's own, poems like this, so filled with structure and finece? Finese? How do you spell it? FINESS!
Anyway...
I love all sorts of poems, but when a poem is filled with structure to the max like this and done so damn well! It is so satisfying..
The end, however, made me think of Picaso, how when he was back in Europe he did a painting of a woman, and she asked him why it didn't look like her, and his simple response was, "Oh, but it will"(it most likely wasn't EXACTLY like that, but I need to generalize, I mean, I have never left the States
)
And the end just made me think of it..
Good job- you deserve a Platinum, not a gold
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Damn, most deserving of the gold and then some. Not what I expected from the given title but oh what a delightful surprise. Hats off to ya
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Oh, this was good....Excellent write and good luck in my contest!
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Great write
I enjoyed this write very much you have such a way of grabbing the reader and holding them throughout bravo
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