let there be no
depression
beyond the
tiny sink hole
my foot would make
impressed upon
the soul of those
that need impressing
where is the room for sorrow
when air flows into lungs
and blood pumps
to a brain in
search of oxygen
sucking air
in square and pretty
rows of
what's the point
in ink felled
from pen and
bled to canvas
in chaos or creativity
still reality dictates
that air is breathed
by other than myself
and in all my self importance
i cannot breathe it all.
A contest entry
- Contest 5 by Griswold.
900 points, ended October 3, 18 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Reader interpretation and critical comment welcomed
Comments
-
De profundus!
I love this. The last line sums it up too. I can not breathe it all!
Good luck in the contest.
-
The opening nails it, and takes you in to the poem,
this is clear powerfull work, the visions of no breath
yet others can breath that closes it to reality as visual.
excelent work
Jon in nashville
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Well now, I'm certainly glad you cannot breathe it all, because then i couldn't read your poem.
Nicely written and stated. self importance is over-rated at best and selfish at worst. Thank you for taking the time to enter, best of luck to you... Scott
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Well, I like this. It describes my feelings currently. I cannot think of one criticism to make. Yeah, you!
Well wishes in the contest.
Thank you for sharing.
rous
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