Pushing past the plodding elephant
He made for the meadows.
Nervously nudging the naked night
He clutched its shadows.
Moving faster, stumbling now and then
He searched in stifled silence
For the resurrector's den.
One world was all they had
While he had four
Twist and shout
Count them out loud
Go seeking some more.
One for the home he painted black
One for the woman he couldn't crack
One for the friends he never knew
One for the work he couldn't do.
One more, just one more please
Now begging softly on his knees
For all those people in me
I have to set free
For all I wanted to be
So passionately
One corner he could hug in peace
and those raging demons appease.
Just one corner, please?
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14 comments:
Hi, thanks for your comment. I see you write poetry and it's great. I have another blog called spilled to bloodlessness. If you are interested in joining, just let me know. My email is Sadness2joy22@aol.com
Too much to do, too little time and fluctuating motivation.
Thanks for commenting, I read a lot of your poetry today and find it highly unusal and tremendously well written.
This is a great poem. The swirling rhymes give it an air of one of those spooky playground chants that kids recite, which are often very dark.x
Looking forward to part ii.
Nice :)
brilliant. like a moving arrow in the night. softly killing my death desire
brilliant. like a moving arrow in the night. softly killing my death desire
hurry up hurry up .. getting impatient for the second helping :)
Enemy of the republic: thanks.Have written to you.Have read spilled to bloodlessness.
Perfect Virgo: thanks for ploughing through them. Am flattered!
Spicy cauldron: wow, thats a whole new thought, will mull on it...
SS:watch this space
Death:its all about stayin alive
Sangeeta:perhaps tonight if tomorrow never comes
* looks forlorn* .... i dont have any corners left.
Good work. Frighteningly close to home I think.
Thanks for the encouragement BTW.
-Mathias
He's running from something, maybe his shadow? Funny thing is, he's running from something that was never there, a nothing that was given shapeless form, colorless hues to haunt him.
grafxgurl:damn!
mathias:really? your welcome.
mermaid:yes, he's running from himself. He's going mad bit by bit.
The precipice of declining perspective is it? There's a palpable urgency that the words depict so wonderfully and tragically.
ouch. too close for comfort. thought you said you couldn't write?
OH YEAH?
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