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2 entries this month
Through Sharon's Halls
10:23 May 14 2011
Times Read: 846
These are not my hands,
This cog and lever
In a Da Vinci render,
Scrabbling for the last supper.
I am walking in someone else's dream,
Another face
And another face
Hidden in hands.
Oh, her head hangs
On such a thin neck,
Whites of her eyes gone,
Housedress hanging
On such an ancient thing
That raises her hands
And screams.
Color, agressive and wrong,
Shades out harmony
In strokes of orange crayon
That melt in the plump hand
Of a mad child,
Dripping down the walls
Like spin-art and lies
And I cannot breathe this air,
Air that flicks its long fingers
And sets a shining mobile spinning
Above a cold, forgotten crib,
Faster and faster, flitting
And glinting like the knife in my hand.
Ashes06:55 May 02 2011
Times Read: 887
Sawhorses, silver and sagging under the weight of the sun,
Old soldiers left to stand sentry before an anonymous door,
Canting sideways in crazy angles, resisting one more day
The embrace of mother earth as she reaches.
Tireless. Keep reaching. Outreach everyone if you want to win.
Stay on your feet. Reach that goal. Sleep when you are dead.
Fatigue, my enemy, riptide against my legs, always pulling,
Reducing the blessed shore to an ever thinning horizon line.
I surrender. I have no more fight in me,
No desire any longer to resist your relentless serenade.
Time to seek your face. In the dusty earth or the salty sea
Shade me and save me and grant me a silver shored dream.
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COMMENTS
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BLOODLIFE
14:17 May 14 2011
When a poem leaves me with an open eyed expression and goose pimples running the length of my spine it tells me I wish there was more to read.
You haven't just captured the essence but also the 'WOW' factor. I loved it.
More more more ......
Vampirewitch39
02:54 May 15 2011
For some reason- that reminds me of the feelings I get when walking into a abandoned building.
And I agree- more please. :)