chapter e.
we are flip sides of copper
melded and welded
through science
and inertia
and I am no more
stationary as I am
satisfied
; no more infatuated
than I am hopeless.
-fearfully condescending
towards the glass
you’ve only filled
half assed
half way
your temper flairs
like white hot iron
or the flicker of
fourth of july
sparklers streaking
messages through
thick, southern air
I’m struck with residual
gloom that this distance
goes beyond state lines
and
,if I am to keep you,
I best fall silent
as the foot falls
in your catholic
obligation.
God, how submission burns.
chapter a.
after hours of your voice
tangling through wires
and short distance
transmission
,there are times when
I submit to the unhealthy
rust in the back of my throat
and let salt seep
from my slowly
detaching retinas.
- sometimes I imagine a world
where I don’t miss your
reassuring lies
singing me to sleep
like the steady stream
of your fictitious heartbeat
vexed with talk of
uncertainty
and rescues involving
happy homes and
bionic squirrels
infidelity and your
inability to love me
colored the marrow
of my brittle bones
black and grey
,even then,
I knew I’d never
trust you again.
somehow still your
unique tenor taints
my evanescent world
with combinations
of smiles that run deeper
than blood and tears
the burrow just
as deep.
God, I truly am a glutton for pain.
Author notes
"Tell me what you're hiding,
or what you want to hide;
something you can't express in person,
can't express enough in person,
have expressed too much of."
This is written for two people. This is all of the above for me.
A contest entry
- superficial onions by notorious.
912 points, ended January 11, 12 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
This is not what I intended...
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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I do recall you reading this one to me the other evening and now I can leave a comment on it. The plot line for life unlike a book is unconventional. The ending may be a Shakespearian tragedy or a more realistic and not so predictable fairy tale, (which as we both so frenquently mention, fairy tales do not exist."
Sure, it would be nice to have a bit more control of the plot line but a wise statement always resonates deep within my soul. Everything happens for a reason. One minor change could make the big difference between oneself and an ultimate event in their life. I suppose we can only work to the best of our abilities to manipulate the currents of our life, but their some currents that naturally flow.
Cool, maybe I'll apply my own advice to me. I know you know this and I'm sorry if I've insulted your intellegence. -
a magnificent piece
very well penned -
this is amazing!
thanks for the fav add btw
your temper flairs
like white hot iron
or the flicker of
fourth of july
sparklers streaking
messages through
thick, southern air
---
that was beautiful.
vexed with talk of
uncertainty
and rescues involving
happy homes and
bionic squirrels
---
i love that stanza.. i think it was the bionic squirrels that did it.
i liked chapter a the best. the imagery and everything was beautiful.
you're an amazing writer, i'mi surprised i havent added you to my favourites before. -
well written.
-
I'll be back with a better comment; in the meantime, this rawked.
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