Insert simile
Insert rhyme
Insert content and paragraph lines
Display intelligence
Display linguistics
Display knowledge of prose and theoretical physics
Dictate fact
Dictate fear
Dictate the quality of sounds that enter the ear
Justify opinion
Justify thoughts
Justify your own words and ignore the flaws

Her heart is a broken record
Constantly being scratched by knives and scissors
Lost in their quest to find a spot still intact

When put in the old phonograph
It plays a soft melody filled with piano notes
That sound like rain on a gray day

The strings of the violin echoes in the background
Along with the lower tones of the cellos
The solitary saxophone cries;
The flutes and clarinets follow its lead,
Desperately letting out their high notes of agony

Drums emerge blasting anger
Encouraging the rest of the instruments to go along
And when it is about to hit its ******…
Another scratch – a deep crooked scratch.
It takes a while before the song starts over.

It’s hard to imagine
This was once a beautiful, shiny vinyl
That stood up in the wooden shelf
Now it is filled with dust
Making company – only – to the Merlot sitting by the desk
And to the ears that can hear nothing
But the harmony of the broken hearted.

Window Sill Weepings

Draped as a curtain of silk disbelief
Tied back emotions lie still on the wall
Blocking the sunlight to pause in relief
Collections of dust form in spite of it all

Streaks hold the fingerprints bound of the day
Smeared in designs of a weakened refrain
Window sill weepings with nothing to say
Magnified teardrops add depth to the pain

Transparent wishes once hidden from view
Wait in the darkness this side of the dawn
Boarded up portals now moistened of dew
Nothing to see ever since you are gone

A lie
suffocates
till released,
and all see
the cracks in
the mirror you
tried to hide.

Don’t cry,
our memories
are only one
reality.

©Ben Ditmars 2014