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cody-edwardsPoems
There sits a woman who cannot feel the rain. Trapped in thoughts that cross her to the neck and stifled tongue. A bench beneath holds up her sodden world, to push back hands on a crystal face and nail her to her seat. She cannot feel a single lachrymal word nor hear a vertical eye as they, by the familied thousands, rip her ripe in two. Perhaps it is for her ultimate benefit that these thorough roving mouths are but the muted daggers of her mind, else she might stand from the bench fall into her lap and feel. Oh, unthinkable as it may seem, to feel those manual nails in her feet and free the fingertips on hands that tear out fenestrated faces firmly held a pace away by freakish phrases. There sits a woman in the rain: all dressed in red and white and slain.
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Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 2:46 PM UTC
Screenings with Oratory
There sits a woman who cannot feel the rain. Trapped in thoughts that cross her to the neck and stifled tongue. A bench beneath holds up her sodden world, to push back hands on a crystal face and nail her to her seat. She cannot feel a single lachrymal word nor hear a vertical eye as they, by the familied thousands, rip her ripe in two. Perhaps it is for her ultimate benefit that these thorough roving mouths are but the muted daggers of her mind, else she might stand from the bench fall into her lap and feel. Oh, unthinkable as it may seem, to feel those manual nails in her feet and free the fingertips on hands that tear out fenestrated faces firmly held a pace away by freakish phrases. There sits a woman in the rain: all dressed in red and white and slain.
© Cody Edwards 2010
Written by
cody-edwards
American
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 2:46 PM UTC
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