I have no lachrymatory
to fill with you.
If tears could have
filled you up,
replaced the fragments
falling out and shattering,
I wouldn't need one.
My tears graze the floor
and stain the walls,
because I have nowhere
to put them.
They scatter as far and wide
as all the pieces of yourself
that we have been losing.
Like Isis, I could go after them,
I could try to sew you back
together.
But now the pieces have
all crumbled,
and crusted into a layer
of dust, that sits and shudders,
that I can't bear to touch
because it crawls on the skin
like webs, like candlelight.
It bears no resemblance
to you at all.
A contest entry
- The Missing by Cherokee.
300 points, ended August 10, 2008, 14 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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Some hearts just cannot be saved....
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Good work. I like, I like. Keep up the good work =]
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Thanks! :]
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