- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Forge
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“What a world, eh?” the wispy voice
Replied to my slow sigh.
“No guarantees here!” The sound
Brushed like old leaves against the sky.
I was too limp, too worn, and oh,
Too mired to reply.
Instead, I staunched the bleeding,
Bloodless tears leaking from my eye.
Tears, blood, what difference
To me now? Old wounds, try
Though I may, come ever undone,
Slashed through, torn wide open by
New hurts, new minted, newly
Tested, and which hotly vie
For pride of place in that ecstasy
Of pain, that choice of the cast die.
The whisper of an ache accompanied
The voice, as harsh a lie
As any ever told to wishful hearts
Crushed, that in awful longing sigh
- COMMENTS
KOLKOREabout 16 years agoI'll admit to not being totally sure about the intricacy involved in the interplay between pain and ectasy as indicated (or merely hinted) in stanza 4. But perhaps that's what I liked most in this poem, namely the possibility that the complaint is not only made by a victim to external fate but also to to one's one's own un tamed heart...
LeBrozabout 16 years agoA touch of pain does nothing but destroy; it's just a myth that suffering builds character.
