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It's a tale of revolution and dread
Where most characters wind up dead
Some end up insane
Some end up in the Seine
And all of this over some bread
It lies
in limbo
a beautiful
wreckage
glistening chrome
the wind
from the sea
stings salty
tears for the
deaths of
youths and
one man
whose name
is not
spoken but
whispered along
the cobbles
of the shore
nature at
its most
unnatural
tells all
and nothing
a secret
like that
of Midas
but the touch
is silver
not gold
tainted heavily
with guilt
the tale
sung by
the breeze
but not
the villagers
their tell-tale
hearts thumping
as they
pass by
for they hear
those voices
that will not
be drowned
A poem I wrote when I was about 16 after visiting Maggi Hambling's Shell sculpture near Aldeburgh. I had managed to arrange it to resemble a shell on the page I wrote it on but can't quite replicate that here.
i am a mountain stream
meandering through
a rocky mountainside
one day to stop
and become
still
a deep pool
of those who meandered
before me
whose channels
cut into the earth
with speed and power
to ease my journey

i am always becoming
never ceasing
in the plummet towards
oblivion
i was born in the sin
of my forefathers
tarnished by the acid rain
of my surroundings
and my mistakes
lie in me
as impurities
that only time will filter
I've been having one of those weeks where I've been angry at my body and brain for failing me. I so desperately want to be out living my life the way I want to. I want to worker harder, volunteer more, get my voice back literally and figuratively...be a better friend, daughter, housemate, lover...I want to bring joy and laughter to the people in my life...and the ones on the periphery...and the ones that I don't even know yet. I feel like screaming to the world and reminding it that I have a soul. That when I look in the mirror, the light in my eyes hasn't died, but been eclipsed by a dirt ridden, calcified soul that so desperately wants to be beautiful again.
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