There is a whisper in the silence:
It is not love, but it is quiet.
It is not love, but it is loud.
I listen to it long into the night, past
the windowless hours,
kept awake by its promises.
It is the color of a fresh bruise,
bittersweet and invigorating.
It fills me like stolen fruit,
a mountain of seeds that grows
in my wide, open hands.
Author notes
I may or may not be happy with this. I'll return to it in the morning, I think.
A contest entry
- breathe by Namita.
800 points, ended October 16, 2008, 17 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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You've several great lines in this one. I like the softness of it. Nice job
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I'm happy with this for you.
The last three lines remind me of robert frost and he isn't even one of my favorite authors...Not in the least. There is just that natural use of imagery that he mostly tries to convey in his writing. But I think you did it better, obviously. The poem is personal and yes, a lot like breathing...I noticed the category it fell under and I was going to say the same thing, anyways. I think you should keep the short format and let the poem, reflect...Which I think it does in a very delicate manner.
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