Panting below the sea
In some dreadful,lost
shimmer from a broken treenail's
journey over fire
that serves our hunger
A heartache so tender
as the flower that dies
in the hands of earth
washed and amassed over steel gates
that fence troubled waters from the shore
Ashen,with the shoulders
of dusk to carry our bodies
forward,Life's faces change
like the insipid flickering
of a dark star in your head
behind your watchful eyes...
In some dreadful,lost
shimmer from a broken treenail's
journey over fire
that serves our hunger
A heartache so tender
as the flower that dies
in the hands of earth
washed and amassed over steel gates
that fence troubled waters from the shore
Ashen,with the shoulders
of dusk to carry our bodies
forward,Life's faces change
like the insipid flickering
of a dark star in your head
behind your watchful eyes...
Funny how a heartache can be tender. But it can. It can be a thing you hold between your thumb and forefinger like a butterfly wing. It's just that the beauty still lingers and I can't let it go. Beauty in heartache. You betcha. Maybe no one else will get that, but it matters little in the face of what I know. It IS a thing that serves my hunger.
ReplyDeleteAnnie,
ReplyDeleteNot only can it be tender...it can also be mute..i've felt it at times..your demonstration is epic...What you know is what you will take away...