Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
The inferno builds, beginning from the tips of her toes, where corroded copper pennies lie covered in sludge & slime. She claws in the darkness searching for notches in the stone, surrounded in a tomb of suffocating impenetrable rock. Inch by inch she reaches the surface, bleeding at the nails, blinded temporarily, with hesitation, she finds her footing. The inferno is boiling now, unstoppable, coursing through every vein, artery, capillary, culminating in a throat constricted from a history of silent struggle, not one understands. A scream lies in wait, yet she is afraid to give it freedom, fearing the rage will take on a life of its' own, and become a never ending roar. A blank-faced crowd stops & stares, some giggle, others mock in disapproval, snide noses upturned, they simply scoff and continue on their way. She watches, red-eyed, at their backs, like an army off to battle. Feeling a grin of confirmation & satisfaction forming on her lips, she celebrates her victory. An ivy league education would do nothing for their perception of her. Empathy is dead. Nothing is authentic. Either be strong or cease to exist. She returns to the hole in the earth, filled with her own murky stench, away from the chattering voices of those forever searching for accolades & meaningless status. Alone, she is jubilant, in her own nothingness. She floats in water as clear as crystals, with pennies, now sparkling underneath her feet.
0
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
Corroded Copper Pennies
The inferno builds, beginning from the tips of her toes, where corroded copper pennies lie covered in sludge & slime. She claws in the darkness searching for notches in the stone, surrounded in a tomb of suffocating impenetrable rock. Inch by inch she reaches the surface, bleeding at the nails, blinded temporarily, with hesitation, she finds her footing. The inferno is boiling now, unstoppable, coursing through every vein, artery, capillary, culminating in a throat constricted from a history of silent struggle, not one understands. A scream lies in wait, yet she is afraid to give it freedom, fearing the rage will take on a life of its' own, and become a never ending roar. A blank-faced crowd stops & stares, some giggle, others mock in disapproval, snide noses upturned, they simply scoff and continue on their way. She watches, red-eyed, at their backs, like an army off to battle. Feeling a grin of confirmation & satisfaction forming on her lips, she celebrates her victory. An ivy league education would do nothing for their perception of her. Empathy is dead. Nothing is authentic. Either be strong or cease to exist. She returns to the hole in the earth, filled with her own murky stench, away from the chattering voices of those forever searching for accolades & meaningless status. Alone, she is jubilant, in her own nothingness. She floats in water as clear as crystals, with pennies, now sparkling underneath her feet.
zhivagos-muse
Written by
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem