I watch the vase falling,
Being pulled by a force,
Beyond understanding,
Towards the chipped floor.
I see her stalling.
I scream in a hoarse,
Dry voice. Reprimanding
Her, my porcelain whore.
Linoleum scratches,
And marble kisses,
Are merely distortions,
To decorate her skin.
Like burned out matches,
Or last years wishes,
My vase is an abortion,
My happiness therein.
As she traces the tile with her heart,
She'll bounce thrice and then depart,
And I pick up her pieces as it falls apart.
A contest entry
- Titles # 1 by cirque du soleil.
525 points, ended December 13, 2008, 17 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
Vivid. Lovely imagery. I just LOVe the last three lines...and cool rhyme scheme! (took me awhile to figure it out though)
I thought the flow was a little off...some lines longer than the others and such...nothing major though
Thanks for entering!
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