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jodie-whitchurchPoems
He awoke on frozen concrete, The broken glass. Locked door, let the house run down around us, At least we’re safe, right? We had Time on our hands, we always said we’d go Someplace, said our youth was a tragedy. We’re our own worst enemies, silent screaming, kicking ourselves out the door, glass limbs. Your hands fumbling over the catch of the lock, unmending the hinges. The last glass we owned skidded off the other side of the table, Throwing itself, disembodied and disfiguring onto the floor. We were empty in that last glass, Cold eyes at means to an end. Staring at the broken glass, wishing To his sleeping form It would glue itself back Together Together, It would glue itself back To his sleeping form. Staring at the broken glass, wishing, Cold eyes at means to an end. We were empty in that last glass, onto the floor, Throwing itself- disembodied and disfiguring- The last glass we owned skidded off the other side of the table, Your hands fumbling over the lock, unmending the hinges. Glass limbs. We’re our own worst enemies, silent... screaming, kicking ourselves out the door, Said our youth was a tragedy, We had Time on our hands, we always said we’d go Someplace, At least we’re safe... right? Locked door, let the house run down around us... The broken glass. He awoke on frozen concrete.
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Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 7:17 PM UTC
To His Sleeping Form
He awoke on frozen concrete, The broken glass. Locked door, let the house run down around us, At least we’re safe, right? We had Time on our hands, we always said we’d go Someplace, said our youth was a tragedy. We’re our own worst enemies, silent screaming, kicking ourselves out the door, glass limbs. Your hands fumbling over the catch of the lock, unmending the hinges. The last glass we owned skidded off the other side of the table, Throwing itself, disembodied and disfiguring onto the floor. We were empty in that last glass, Cold eyes at means to an end. Staring at the broken glass, wishing To his sleeping form It would glue itself back Together Together, It would glue itself back To his sleeping form. Staring at the broken glass, wishing, Cold eyes at means to an end. We were empty in that last glass, onto the floor, Throwing itself- disembodied and disfiguring- The last glass we owned skidded off the other side of the table, Your hands fumbling over the lock, unmending the hinges. Glass limbs. We’re our own worst enemies, silent... screaming, kicking ourselves out the door, Said our youth was a tragedy, We had Time on our hands, we always said we’d go Someplace, At least we’re safe... right? Locked door, let the house run down around us... The broken glass. He awoke on frozen concrete.
mirror effect vilanelle-like poem, 2015. I've forgotten the name of this poetic technique. If anyone knows please tell me and release me from the niggling bug of not remembering
#mirror#vilanelle#ish#empty#broken#glass#frozen#concrete#sleeping#form
jodie-whitchurch
Written by
jodie-whitchurch
26/F
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 7:17 PM UTC
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