These flowers
Wilted to rust; wilted to dust
By the sinews of innocence
A cosmic oblivion where the stars are sacrificed
Where the wishes and dreams of all of us
Lie within more than just our sycophantic recourse, crushed…
We are not bound by strings, or manmade things
But by the laws of decaying trust
Our eyes bleed silver, and our hearts beat as one.
My hands are made of paper, and my lips are made of lace
My breasts are made from doorknobs and my soul…has lost its place
And all I feel are the cold hands of men, prying me open; digging within…
Please, when will I finally be myself again?
My eyes are keyholes, and my heart is the lock…
But a man promised me his keys; melted ivory and rocks
Please tell me sir, may I have hands to reach…and feel your face?
Why do I reflect you with such elegance, when I feel like such a disgrace?
Please, just tell me, before your hands leave these holes wide open…
How long have I been here…rusted, wilting, and broken?
A contest entry
- Lead me to the edge of what can be expressed in poetry by herrlurch.
800 points, ended March 27, 2009, 12 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What'd ya think?
Comments
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Thank you for entering my contest. I'm looking forward to the final judging round. Best of luck, Götz
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Heartfelt piece, full of great imagery. Well done.
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Holy crap. Okay, wow, vast difference from what you earlier wrote. Now this is the Angie I know and love. That was easily one of the better things you've written and has rocketed to my favorite. Yes, this beat the ones before it by far. Where did this come from? I'd like to hear about how this happened.
<3
Wow.
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