Dawn shatters against her window
Through the white plastic shutters
And crawls over her body
Laying still
Unaware of morning
My kisses still wet on her back
Unaware of mourning
Yet to come
Wide awake
In fear of age
I try to hide my eyes
From the unwelcome light
Heralding my 9264th day
Trying to remember the name
Of the woman
That came with the sex
6:14 AM a dozen repressed years come knocking
At a door I'd rather leave unopened
What are you? The fucking ghost of christmas past?
While feeding flames of justification
With binary answers
Reheated coffee grows cold yet again
On her morning paper
Sepia circles on vacancies
I need somewhere to go
Unaware of heartache
Yet to come
In terms of what you proposed to accomplish with this peice "a man that tries to remain young by staying well clear of responsibilites." You've pulled it off well. Wish Mag. hadn't already commented on your wordplay with "morning" and "mourning", but just let me reiterate that it works well. She's right about the ghost of christmas past part too, though i'd leave "who are you" in and possibly add something more abstracted to it. Altogether a very enjoyable read. I will look for more of your stuff. later, kc
I quite liked this piece. I like how you say in the first stanza that dawn crawls over her body. That was a nice image to me. You sound as though you are apathetic and numb from these encounters and are searching for a way to curb them. I also like the use of morning and "mourning"...The second stanza is interesting as well, but the part that I don't love is the italicized question about the ghost of Christmas past. I feel like it is just sticking out there and isn't really needed. These are just the opinions of a fellow writer trying to find her voice. Hope some of this helps...growing up sucks, eh? Magnolia
Nothing very interesting going on in this poem. Between the lines reads sexual frustration left unexplained and still blaitantly uninteresting. what did that experience really mean to you?
Very interesting and original imagery you have here. I especially like your twist with the word "morning," using it again as "mourning." Is this autobiographical, perhaps?
My only real critique is that this poem doesn't really have a beat -- there are very long lines and very short ones. It would be more readable if they were evened out a bit.
Submission Name: Thanatophobia
