First Degree
A creature of my own making murdered me today
It took a sharp knife made entirely of regrets
And sunk it deep into the soft cushion of my soul
Twisting it till i screamed silently for mercy.
Silently, for if i had made a sound, any sound,
The cut might have bled all over my defenses
Darkening the colour of my dejection
To a shade reminiscent of death.
The creature was bright and happy once:
It bred cheer of a hopeful kind into what i loosely term my life
But which is more a random collection of souvenirs
From calendars and days when you were mine
And now, the creature, dismayed at its descent into a vile world
Where beaches littered with the flotsam and jetsam of sadness
Gave way to lagoons and inlets of fear,
Struggled, mutated, gave up on itself, and resorted to homicide.
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About Me
- ruch kuch
- writing is work for me, so i don't do it as a passion anymore. that is so tragic. most of these pieces were written more than 5 years ago. this blog is my last chance to re-ignite the little squib..
5 comments:
When the abstract becomes visual, the poem has sunk in. I could see the blood colouring your defenses. Magnificient. :-)
Thanks
thank you..
Between my comment and your thank you so much has happen that I had to revisit your poem. :-)
Waise why nothing after 2007? I found that intriguing.
more old poems- dug out from an old folder i found under a pile of dusty scripts.
nothing in this after 2007.
maybe the font has dried up?
who knows.
maybe i feel more now and express less?
perhaps.
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