letter from ourself
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letter from ourself
Hi. How are you today reader? I'm much more interested in you then I am in I. Please, share your lense. Today I found the sky, it was a strange experience... I had been looking for something else. A feeling of accomplishment, maybe? Or perhaps the inhibitions I lost so long ago? I think it must be the former, because I know I've been keeping the latter locked in my ribcage. Oh, was it the key to my ribs I searched so dearly for? Not that it contains a relevant detail, but I simply hate to leave things so blind. I cannot remember for the death of me... so I'll continue. It seems I'm to have a discursive night. I can't remember where I found the sky. I saw the sun today though, for the first time in years. It seems it had long since married the sky and refused to part. I met a woman with a heart made of glass, she turned to me and spoke; "Discovery of the flight through a winter hollow. Wings made of nails, and a map sewn from love." I offered her my hand and smiled. My eyes shone as lighthouse beacons. "In the dark there is no pain." The skeletal fragments of her once grand love poured from her purse into my hands. "An epitaph or a elegy. A bird's first flight. Nothing more then sentiment." It was here we parted paths. The fork of the road. I followed an arrow which screamed at approach: "City of Kings and Fools." I tipped my hat at the thought, before realizing that it was a metropolitan of synonyms. Every King is a fool, even if not every fool is a King. I tore through the brush towards a lake. And a most majestic cerulean it was. The sky creeped out in jealously. The ballgown of this lake was that fitting of a queen. I wondered if the Queen of Lakes was married to the King of Fools. A likely situation. I tossed my finest hat to the lady and continued back towards my origin. Every man's true goal is to obtain this feeling of origin. To be one with the air that was the first breath, and the memories we should have never thrown away. I took a flame to my last picture of us. Sentiment is tantamount to an anchor. Tie my emotions down to this place I could never leave behind. The city gates and concrete walls. Broken glass, the constituent of a baby's first window. I have but one request. Take away my freedom. Take away my shape. Quell my action. Design my prison and keep me locked in. I have but one request. Keep me from this feeling. |
Submitted on 2005-07-09 02:25:45 Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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| very well done. the imaginary was one to be desired. very well written out. you had alot of wisdom and yet you threw in a bit of a laugh every now and then. yet at the end. it ended with such a powerful statement. 'I have but one request. Take away my freedom. Take away my shape. Quell my action. Design my prison and keep me locked in. I have but one request. Keep me from this feeling. ' the ending is such an important part of the poem. bringing closure while still letting the reader wondering. perfect. 'I met a woman with a heart made of glass, she turned to me and spoke; "Discovery of the flight through a winter hollow. Wings made of nails, and a map sewn from love." I offered her my hand and smiled. My eyes shone as lighthouse beacons. "In the dark there is no pain." The skeletal fragments of her once grand love poured from her purse into my hands. "An epitaph or a elegy. A bird's first flight. Nothing more then sentiment." It was here we parted paths. The fork of the road. I followed an arrow which screamed at approach: "City of Kings and Fools." I tipped my hat at the thought, before realizing that it was a metropolitan of synonyms. Every King is a fool, even if not every fool is a King.' this.. was my favorite part. so beautiful and imaginitive. i loved it- jennifer | Posted on 2005-08-01 00:00:00 | by joy7542 | [ Reply to This ] | |
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