Post by athornontherose on Nov 21, 2008 18:39:29 GMT -5
Here is the poem that I read at the first meeting. Comments and praise are appreciated. Criticism is worshiped.
Stained
Stained glass,
A broken form, collapsing into
My hands.
Stained hands,
A crimson fate, a sudden wake
From silent death.
He was here.
I know that voice—
That raspy innocence,
That tainted smile,
Although the face
Blurs the color of memory.
Yes, it was I,
Or was it?
Is the answer near?
Will my brain ever claim
What it knows?
Comprehension and understanding
Are two different things.
His corpse is too familiar,
Yet vague.
I walk across him, the smell of sweet pride
Frees the air of self-indulgence.
Will his footsteps become my own?
Am I a hypocrite
Or just trying to protect?
I care not, pretend not,
What’s done is done,
What falls is meant to be fallen.
I lash out at the wall,
For inside holds no more room.
I crawl outside the darkness,
But his eyes outstare my cares
Everyday.
Secrecy is an empty gift box.
I consider telling someone—anyone—
Perhaps you,
But you’re tied to your own judgment.
And who could blame you?
I’m despicable, reprehensible, intolerable,
But so was he.
I am without reason,
But plenty of rhyme.
Without words
But plenty of lines.
I am like you,
Though a truer, blacker form.
Your thoughtful eyes outweigh my heart
As your hand strokes my back,
My eyes know tears only from fears,
Never sorrow.
You move behind me
Cajoling me with flowers, chocolates, sympathy,
But I don’t grieve,
Except for the fact
That I don’t grieve.
You tell me how fortunate
He was to know me.
My nod contradicts my thoughts
Creating lies
In otherwise silence.
I continue to weep selfish tears
With a heart carved in stone
Nailed to the ocean floor,
Cold and wet
And unmoved.
But I really am in mourning
Not for him
But for me.
I do not miss him,
But I miss my innocence
And my mind’s freedom.
You’re still here,
But I avert my eyes.
I cannot bear you
Wasting your kindness,
Relieving feigned emotions
With devotion to deception.
I shall know you no longer,
But wonder how much
I really know you.
Yes, we’ve spoken.
You’ve carried me to shield
My feet from the rocks,
Sung to me in times
When I’ve forgotten the key.
I’ve returned your gracious favors
Only in apathy.
Then I remember,
You’ve been standing behind me.
I turn to your face and see it—
A reflection of me.
Your eyes once caring and warm
Are fixated on the door.
Your smile once comforting—
Counterfeit and dull.
This is how I felt
After the knife went in,
While I had to pretend
I was sane.
I break—
What have you done?
You, a window, think yourself a wall
(I know much more than you think.)
My mouth opens and spits accusations—
I need to feel better
If I can’t merely be better.
Your smile doesn’t last
As my fears pass eternity.
I know what you know,
You know what I know.
You chase me,
But almost heroically
Like a knight’s faithful steed.
I scatter and splatter my name
Like an unruly palate of paint.
Winded I rest and turn my head
No direction unexplored.
You aren’t here,
But are you?
I heave once more, start to run, and realize
There is no escaping you
Or I.
We are one.
Stained
Stained glass,
A broken form, collapsing into
My hands.
Stained hands,
A crimson fate, a sudden wake
From silent death.
He was here.
I know that voice—
That raspy innocence,
That tainted smile,
Although the face
Blurs the color of memory.
Yes, it was I,
Or was it?
Is the answer near?
Will my brain ever claim
What it knows?
Comprehension and understanding
Are two different things.
His corpse is too familiar,
Yet vague.
I walk across him, the smell of sweet pride
Frees the air of self-indulgence.
Will his footsteps become my own?
Am I a hypocrite
Or just trying to protect?
I care not, pretend not,
What’s done is done,
What falls is meant to be fallen.
I lash out at the wall,
For inside holds no more room.
I crawl outside the darkness,
But his eyes outstare my cares
Everyday.
Secrecy is an empty gift box.
I consider telling someone—anyone—
Perhaps you,
But you’re tied to your own judgment.
And who could blame you?
I’m despicable, reprehensible, intolerable,
But so was he.
I am without reason,
But plenty of rhyme.
Without words
But plenty of lines.
I am like you,
Though a truer, blacker form.
Your thoughtful eyes outweigh my heart
As your hand strokes my back,
My eyes know tears only from fears,
Never sorrow.
You move behind me
Cajoling me with flowers, chocolates, sympathy,
But I don’t grieve,
Except for the fact
That I don’t grieve.
You tell me how fortunate
He was to know me.
My nod contradicts my thoughts
Creating lies
In otherwise silence.
I continue to weep selfish tears
With a heart carved in stone
Nailed to the ocean floor,
Cold and wet
And unmoved.
But I really am in mourning
Not for him
But for me.
I do not miss him,
But I miss my innocence
And my mind’s freedom.
You’re still here,
But I avert my eyes.
I cannot bear you
Wasting your kindness,
Relieving feigned emotions
With devotion to deception.
I shall know you no longer,
But wonder how much
I really know you.
Yes, we’ve spoken.
You’ve carried me to shield
My feet from the rocks,
Sung to me in times
When I’ve forgotten the key.
I’ve returned your gracious favors
Only in apathy.
Then I remember,
You’ve been standing behind me.
I turn to your face and see it—
A reflection of me.
Your eyes once caring and warm
Are fixated on the door.
Your smile once comforting—
Counterfeit and dull.
This is how I felt
After the knife went in,
While I had to pretend
I was sane.
I break—
What have you done?
You, a window, think yourself a wall
(I know much more than you think.)
My mouth opens and spits accusations—
I need to feel better
If I can’t merely be better.
Your smile doesn’t last
As my fears pass eternity.
I know what you know,
You know what I know.
You chase me,
But almost heroically
Like a knight’s faithful steed.
I scatter and splatter my name
Like an unruly palate of paint.
Winded I rest and turn my head
No direction unexplored.
You aren’t here,
But are you?
I heave once more, start to run, and realize
There is no escaping you
Or I.
We are one.
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