I was asking him where he was about my
I hugged my wound and fell asleep on it
I thought I was a lover and that I was a friend I found cursed you did my past
I am a twig withered over the years
I am full of fear and nostalgia
I am desperate in this world over theI am good with the cruel and God h I am half naughty and half sad
I am the one who died for me, I was happy for years
And she asks who am II honor myself and must be absentThis is me, in short, living alone
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When Contradicting Images Reveal More Than Logic
I have a history of analyzing the utterly brilliant and soul-touching poetry of Mesh Toraskar. It seems I’m unable to read his poetry and move on with my life, as each line, each half-line, each word is so rich with imagery, references, concepts, et cetera, that it requires taking slow, quiet time to fully appreciate it all. He took quite a long break at the beginning of the year before returning in April with the stunner, “fresh terror to love.” He has published two more pieces since then, one poem and one Feast narrative, both of which I highly recommend. You’ll quickly deduce that I will recommend everything this man has written. Anyway, I promised to come back when words were no longer failing me and I did not. A lot has happened to me and it simply has not stopped, yet this is no excuse for being mute to the following beauty.
By Mackenzie Davis6 days ago in Writers
Comments (1)
This comes from such a deep place. Out of so many poems, the first line drew me in. Kept me reading even things I didn't understand...but want to. Urges within me to take the title and paint it a kaleidoscope masterpiece so the world can really see what gift is truly here.