Sunday, August 22, 2010

Rose Scented Illusion

The moon tugs angry at my heart,
drawing black blood in an ebb and flow
of the sea that crashes and roars
against the rocks beneath this monstrous cliff.

The mist hangs in patches dissolving shadows:
no wonder I cannot see who I am,
give me a candle so I can satiate myself-
are these really my raw, soap-frothing hands?

Love was a wonder, a cherished hope,
but now I am down on blistering knees,
chasing a potato for the next singeing meal
over a kitchen fire that has burnt my years.

He shall not patch me up with occasional nods
and bland phrases reeking boredom;
he brings me roses on a Sunday forgetting
that there are thorns on the bloodied stems.

6 comments:

Liza said...

"give me a candle"
"chasing a potato"
the last stanza
ALL incredible.

Boonie S said...

Very powerful. Thanks

All the best, Boonie

Akeith Walters said...

Well done.

Zaina Anwar said...

Thanks, guys.

Zaina Anwar said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
pomegranate101 said...

"He shall not patch me up with occasional nods"

Favorite line.

Hey Zaina, I came from Rick Maughan's site.

After reading this I wonder if I should put a page on my site dedicated to poetry and songwriting. I wonder how many people would be into that.

I haven't written poems in awhile, but I wrote one song for almost everyday this week.

Good stuff, keep it up.