Alone, she faces the sun, blinded
By a cold, bright sun and stung
By the thorny wind, there is
No looking away from darkness
There is nowhere to run.
On her own, she cuts, peels
And scrapes.
Her life dances in the blue gas flame
A spark of the mind might set her ablaze
Despite a dying heart for a fireplace
On her own, she seeks an anchor
"I'm here." Many voices, intermingled
Fair and hoarse, some crisper than the other
The other, her own, hoarse, yet clear
On her own, she thinks, she writes, she cries
She lives.
An anchor could ground her, she doesn't deny
But when metal and earth meet
The ground must but give.
4 comments:
As detached poetry its nice but..
:)
:D I don't write any other kind.
I dont know about detached poetry. But i like the way your words weave through her mind and her hopes. The last line for some reason gave me a rather sinking feeling. But like the style
It's not supposed to :) It is a good thing when you think you want something very much, and then one day realize that you don't need it, and are in fact better off without it. Revelation is a good thing, is it not?
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