Tree's tending arms do not want wind
to lift small nests in careless rip
from safe embrace;
to let eggs fall to yellow splash
and murky death, crushed on rough undergrowth,
mingled with mud.
But then: love's wish
expressed may only stress
the fact that there are shadows
in life's blinding storm,
blocking both sunshine and its song.
Let then the heart in darkness tumble
from its arch of rib,
released from passion's grip:
leaving a taste of blood,
an atom with its tail of light ...
as recollection of the broken part.
In a list
A contest entry
- Sense..... by Stirrer of Stardust.
700 points, ended August 8, 16 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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Whoops! 10:30PM my bedtime! Have a great and productive day...
The knowing of a broken part. Have you noticed, in your embrace of scripture how our heroes are promised great things, then are broken, then redeemed? This feels like that... -
I hope there would be a happy ending to it somehow, intrigueing write. Clever once again. Blessings.
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Suitably sensual. And strangely upsetting.
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