Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
samaire-angeliquePoems
I The way is clear He lays his promises out Around my feet Like gifts. There aren't many... But they're the only ones I've known. But when I go to pick them up, He stops me And instead, Crushes them underfoot. Shrapnel flies, Leaving slight, Tiny wounds. And I stand, Alone, Surrounded by the fragments. II Along comes another. He steps carefully over the shards, Sparing himself the pain I've felt. He lays his promises, Twice as many, Atop the fragments. These gifts seem Beautiful... Pure... Plentiful... But when I go to pick them up, He stops me And instead, Throws them, Violently, In the direction of my barely healed body, Leaving me broken and battered. And I fall, Alone, Surrounded by the fragments. III A third appears. He walks, With bare feet, On the shards of broken promises, Sharing my pain. He lays his promises Atop the fragments. His gifts are modest, Yet somehow, Glow With unfathomable beauty. But when I go to pick them up, He stops me And instead, Softly touches his lips to mine. Suddenly, The shards vanish, My wounds heal, And the scars disappear, As if they had never been. He picks up the gifts, Sets them gently in my arms, And we stand, Together, Surrounded by each other.
0
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 3:37 AM UTC
Shattered
I The way is clear He lays his promises out Around my feet Like gifts. There aren't many... But they're the only ones I've known. But when I go to pick them up, He stops me And instead, Crushes them underfoot. Shrapnel flies, Leaving slight, Tiny wounds. And I stand, Alone, Surrounded by the fragments. II Along comes another. He steps carefully over the shards, Sparing himself the pain I've felt. He lays his promises, Twice as many, Atop the fragments. These gifts seem Beautiful... Pure... Plentiful... But when I go to pick them up, He stops me And instead, Throws them, Violently, In the direction of my barely healed body, Leaving me broken and battered. And I fall, Alone, Surrounded by the fragments. III A third appears. He walks, With bare feet, On the shards of broken promises, Sharing my pain. He lays his promises Atop the fragments. His gifts are modest, Yet somehow, Glow With unfathomable beauty. But when I go to pick them up, He stops me And instead, Softly touches his lips to mine. Suddenly, The shards vanish, My wounds heal, And the scars disappear, As if they had never been. He picks up the gifts, Sets them gently in my arms, And we stand, Together, Surrounded by each other.
samaire-angelique
Written by
samaire-angelique
American
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 3:37 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem