The Day is For Sleeping
|
|
Description:
The Day is For Sleeping
She polishes her ribbon, worn with time and care And moves on to a plaque, a memory of what was there She caresses the frame, closing her brown eyes Neglecting the journey, praising just the prize A soft dust hides her shoulders, from weight and wear and tear Time is but a number, that once mattered somewhere Her heart is trudging slowly, it too lost with age As she holds a letter, perfumed in love and rage 'I love only the world', she mumbles to the air 'I was born to mend its wounds, destined to sooth its fear' 'You love only the world', repeats the empty space 'You were born to change its ways, destined to save its grace' The light outside her window, is protecting her from day Casting overshadows, on birds that dare to stay The clock ticks by more slowly, the song racing to an end Still she won't let go, preferring to play pretend Her wrinkled hand lays dormant, his face hidden beneath All of time can't mend, the wounds that she bequeathed But day hasn't arrived yet, the truth is still asleep The ribbons, plaques and frames, at night her company keep |
Submitted on 2013-10-06 18:46:46 Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
Edit post
Comments
This has a lot going for it. Your rhymes/off-rhymes are generally good but "sleep" and "keep" seem forced. The work does something that is important in poetry, it conveys a feeling, a sense of the person. | | Posted on 2013-10-08 00:00:00 | by my shadow | [ Reply to This ] | She studies her ribbon, with time and with care | She moves to a plaque... his memory there Caressing the frame, while closing her eyes Neglecting his journey, praising his prize . His dust hides her shoulders, from weight and wear Time is a number, that mattered somewhere Her heart pulses constant, counting the days She clutches a letter, perfume gone with the age. 'I love only the world', she cautions the air 'I mended it's wounds. I soothed its despair.' 'You love only the world', repeats empty space "To change its lost ways, to save its lost grace' The light outside her window, gifting her days Casts over long shadows, on the birds daring stay. The clock ticks by slowly, the song metering an end Still she won't let go, still grieving her friend Her wrinkled hand dormant, his face hidden beneath Tme can't mend the wounds that she bequeathed Day hasn't arrived, the truth left to sleep The ribbons, and frames, her memory keep | Posted on 2013-10-07 00:00:00 | by solararia | [ Reply to This ] | Although I might be able to admit her it's late at night I read them that doesn't give her the right to assassinate me for their possession. Who does she think she is the incarnation of truth aimed corporeally preternatural. I don't understand, why is she dreaming of his trophies, did she care, do wrong to him?? Was it her neglect for reality that wounded him? | Bruce ????? | Posted on 2013-10-06 00:00:00 | by monad | [ Reply to This ] | |
198003