Sunday morning, and it is too early
to be awake. I walk down a street
filled with old Victorian terraces,
the light so cold that the stones beneath my feet
have turned blue. This city is lined with churches –
their spires stretch above the rooftops
like a memory I’ve never had. My ears almost ache
with the absence of their bells.
I can see a volcano from my window.
Our country is so young
compared to the land on which she rests;
we trace our lineage in centuries
whilst the rocks beneath us
shift. I have never felt an earthquake.
This past century, we have outgrown nature.
Like a nanny from our childhood, we have abandoned her
for larger and better things; like skyscrapers, and motorways,
and engines to tame the seas.
There are few trees, here –
I am not built for city living.
It feels like a wound
that there were no leaves to tangle my feet
in the autumn, and no bare branches
to capture the snow this past week.
It fell onto roads
and dissolved, instead,
crisp only whilst suspended in the air.
Some days, I dream of finding a cave,
back when oak groves spanned the lowlands
and the valleys were heavy with beech.
There are things I would miss,
but also those I wouldn’t –
the wail of sirens as they pass in the night
is a small price to pay
for an infinite landscape of forest.
A contest entry
- 200th Contest!! by Ryno.
2750 points, ended February 19, 22 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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This piece is so rich with imagery and descriptions that were used incredibly to tell the reader about this city, and what it is like to live there.
I loved how you used more personification-type-things as similes for the inanimate. Where inanimate similes would normally be used when it comes to describing people and all that stuff that relates to us. It was like a double whammy whenever you did that.
Parts of the piece were entwined with beauty and piece, and then other parts felt morbid. It is one of those writes that takes us it many directions.
"It feels like a wound
that there were no leaves
-- That there ARE no leaves?
Wonderful work here. This piece has a striking, enthralling quality about it and I really loved this read. Thanks for the entry and good luck!!
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