the ghosts are playing with pink teacups
left from childhood in mother's room.
she saw her daughter rot from inside
where she swiftly sliced her feet
and left a band-aid --
and mother will crumble at the tick
of death's slow pendulum.
she is already blistering
in the thousand eyes of death;
her ghosts solemnly bow,
fearful of the reckless living,
and invite her to tea.
Author notes
i hate this.
but it's for someone.
A contest entry
- the truth about heaven by autarky.
1200 points, ended June 13, 22 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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i love the feel of this poem; i keep picturing an attic, dusty and sepia, where everything is slothful and everything is dying. i think "switfly" = "swiftly". besides that, thanks so much for entering!
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Very cool write!
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i did like this, i just thought the central line, deaths slow pendulum seemed a little contrived, but a i loved the rest!
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dont underestimate the power of your writes or sell yourself short. i read this and its late and my mind projected the scenes so vividly even though i am tired. i would say use 'tick' or 'tock' instead of 'tap' but besides that you have crafted a nice little haunting scene here.
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good idea. thank you
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