From the cut
a tiny little bubble
blood bubble
drops and forms.
Sliding down her wrist it
sprouts feathers, wings,
beak and claws and a deep
scarlet eye and a heart
thump thump that sets the firebird
free. The phoenix unfolds, a wisp of smoke
uncurling, launches skyward
and folds back in – to
white bird. Dove
lets loose wings, catches air, twirls and
soars, arrow straight, perfect aim,
to spun cloud fluff, cotton,
fainter than a winter breath that
fades against the sun.
Author notes
This is one of my darker poems...it's about cutting (which I *don't* condone). I tried to capture the feelings of a self-injurer.
A contest entry
- even... by PrabhuDayal Khattar.
300 points, ended August 15, 2008, 11 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - crimson remorse by PersephoneInWinter.
300 points, ended August 19, 2008, 17 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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Humm..this is really a very curious note of life you did my friend..the color of the darkness is revealing enough..well done..
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Wow
despite the subject this is beautiful. good immagry. keep it up!
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