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When?


Author: expiring_touch
ASL Info:    30/f/Hamburg
Elite Ratio:    3.91 - 139 /260 /173
Words: 151
Class/Type: Poetry /Misc
Total Views: 1087
Average Vote:    No vote yet.
Bytes: 1001



Description:




When?



It's been a year, drinking
salt
As the globes rush away.

What if this were the kind you don't get over?
What if the sun-baked churches
and stained glass windows
with angels' heads angled
for eternal forgiveness, and this tart
razor-thin smoke lurking around them
were always to be tied to my
knotted gut like newlywed tin cans -
my version of ever after, just not happily.

He wasn't even happy, not even once,
He said, and so steered himself assuredly away, -
from under the buttermilk sky, and the days
without ears, and the frostbitten laments.

Where are my tools, then, to plod in the
Opposite direction - did he take them? -,
what do I have, then, to balloon me upwards,
stop spasming stifled sobs, skulking
behind desks and elevators,
and to think that this, too,
will be over?





Submitted on 2013-02-05 01:52:59     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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Comments


  I really enjoyed this. My favorite part is...

What if this were the kind you don’t get over?
What if the sun-baked churches
and stained glass windows
with angels’ heads angled
for eternal forgiveness, and this tart
razor-thin smoke lurking around them
were always to be tied to my
knotted gut like newlywed tin cans -
my version of ever after, just not happily.

I think that is the strongest part of this piece. I was going to narrow it down to just a couple of my favorite lines, but I couldnt decide because I loved this whole stanza! Thanks for sharing.
| Posted on 2013-03-01 00:00:00 | by Amberdy | [ Reply to This ]
  Some of the metaphors are fresh and astonishing - which makes a poem sparkle, and so your poetry is good but I think your philosophy is a bit untermeschen (as they say around here) since you imply that you are subject to something which in fact is subject to you.

But without the laments, there would be little poetry today! I like your verse and think you are a good poet.
| Posted on 2013-02-05 00:00:00 | by Glen Bowman | [ Reply to This ]
  I like this, I feel the passion as the protagonist finds no solace in sanctity. Even the incredible fact that they're alive is not satisfying to their consciousness given the ramifications of their existence. "Where are my tools....". Indeed does the answer lie within? Is there reward for tenacity's adamance? Perhaps there is no hope, being human can be so depressing. Seriously this is convincingly morose dialogue. It truly makes me wish I had the proper elixir to libation offer......reminds me of my muse!!

Monad
| Posted on 2013-02-05 00:00:00 | by monad | [ Reply to This ]


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