Sinking
back into the memory of who I am.
The plan laid out brick by sunny brick.
Adrift in a sea of red,
where you laid me down among
those who grow
row on row,
slowly,
up or down.
Oubliette.
Bayonet.
Intimate shadow play.
Hallowed it may be
but still only a name
and, though I may go gently,
none will ever smell as sweet.
Thorns your fingers bite.
She will gladly lick them clean
but the scars will not heal.
Not while you conceal
that which you left
in the field
to forget.
Rising
from the memory of who I was to you.
The shrew I could not tame.
The screw you turned too tightly
now embedded in a sea of red
left to rust or to grow,
row on row,
slowly,
up or down.
Magnet.
Dragnet.
Hanged at dawn.
Left too long
to remember your name or
the game we played
to make ourselves feel strong.
Spindle my paws prick
and I will lick them clean,
and the scars will soon heal
while I lie concealed
in the poppy field,
to forget.
About the Creator
J
I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil
Comments (2)
Well-wrought!
a very powerful and moving poem. It's beautifully written and it explores complex emotions in a very insightful way.