In This Life
by
In this life that’s so hard
I try to capture an image of you
To keep it in a jar
And carry with me
No matter where I go
Or how far
It glows with the light
Of a thousand fire flies
I hold it out in front of me
Swinging it like a lantern
To lead me through the night
To be cradled next to me
As I sleep
A comforting sensation
Washes over me
As I squeeze it tight
And dream of a day
When we are together again
And all decisions made
This time will be right
Until that day
I bask in the glow
Of all I remember of you
And the promises it then brings
She bangs at the Door
by
With all the desperation and power
Of a young woman trapped in a love gone bad
She bangs on the door
Such energy when released into the universe
Attempts to reach whatever it can and destroy
He feels the vibration coming through the floor
Sitting on the couch
All sound from the world around him blocked
By the music in his ears
The Sound so thick
It is as he is adrift in it
But still the message received by his feet
Is all too clear
Ignoring the pleas that go unheard
But that are easily felt
His stare intensifies at nothing at all
A hole hollow and numb
Sits frozen over with no signs
Of it starting to melt
As the pain on the other side
Of the door becomes too much to bare
She crumbles and falls
Sobbing echoes and flows
Falling on deaf ears
As she curls up in a ball
Alone in her now destroyed dream
Of the life she thought they would have
And so very alone lying in this hall
Thanks for the kind comments everyone.
Brilliant poetry, so good to read you here.
Thank you Neva :)
This is awesome! Great job!!!!!
thank you so much.
Andrew's retelling of the feminine ritual could come right out of The Feminine Mystique. The question is ownership. If the daughter owns her body, men, and other women, will love it and want to merge with it. If a man or woman owns his or her sexuality as a lifelong gift, it can last for decades. Obviously, the poet succeeded in evoking a collision of worlds and spheres.
Thank you Andrew for your comment. I love to see where my pieces are taken by the reader.