It wasn’t marrying a near stranger that caused it.
Neither was it the intruder who ripped open
the loins of youth with every selfish squall.
It was neither the mindless first shift outside
nor the thankless second one inside that
fake two-story sanctuary.
But the sock, the pretty blue one
she had snuck in with her
and guarded the memories
of a past life,
was missing its mate.
She had yearned for the yester years all day,
but they weren’t to be found.
The sock would never see its mate again.
The intruder no longer squalled
and the fake sanctuary was now silent,
Its polished flooring
drank up the liquified life
dripping from the sanctuary’s
very own ceremonial blade,
and the priestess waited
for the last sacrifice to walk
in the doors.
All because the sock was missing its mate.
It would never see it again.
A contest entry
- Depth, Emotion, Imagery. by Fire-Fly.
600 points, ended May 25, 76 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Critiques please. Good and bad. I can't improve without your help.
Comments
-
Very interesting parallels you have looked at in this poem. It comes across really well.
Thanks for entering and good luck in my contest.
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