"ashcan" poems - Hello Poetry

If you wanted privacy, you might have closed your blinds from time to time. The devil doesn't knock upon entry. He knows where he's wanted. I've heard your conversations-- The bigotry, the loathing. I've ****** up filth through your floorboards. I've tasted your tears, mingled with sweat from sins of the flesh, cascading down your drains. I've stepped through the hillocks of cigarette butts you discard as carelessly as your dreams, a little measure to meld your environment and outlook: the world as an ashcan. I know you better than I'd ever know myself because my assessment of you is not gilded with pride or egotism, not tainted by self-pity. I know that you wanted this, in spite of pained cries to the contrary. I know you really wept for the innocence you lost long before I let myself in your ***** You let the world in-- you offered yourself up with impunity for far too long. You valued your life so little as to put it on display for anyone's appraisal. You were waiting on catastrophe to prove you were worth saving; I was merely the instrument. I took nothing that wasn't proffered by your unlocked door. Your home and your body share sentiments-- I simply took the welcome mat at its word.

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Sep 20, 2012

Sep 20, 2012 at 12:18 AM UTC

shane-hunt

Therapist

If you wanted privacy, you might have closed your blinds from time to time. The devil doesn't knock upon entry. He knows where he's wanted. I've heard your conversations-- The bigotry, the loathing. I've ****** up filth through your floorboards. I've tasted your tears, mingled with sweat from sins of the flesh, cascading down your drains. I've stepped through the hillocks of cigarette butts you discard as carelessly as your dreams, a little measure to meld your environment and outlook: the world as an ashcan. I know you better than I'd ever know myself because my assessment of you is not gilded with pride or egotism, not tainted by self-pity. I know that you wanted this, in spite of pained cries to the contrary. I know you really wept for the innocence you lost long before I let myself in your ***** You let the world in-- you offered yourself up with impunity for far too long. You valued your life so little as to put it on display for anyone's appraisal. You were waiting on catastrophe to prove you were worth saving; I was merely the instrument. I took nothing that wasn't proffered by your unlocked door. Your home and your body share sentiments-- I simply took the welcome mat at its word.

35

I lay impotently upon the bed, my innocence drip fed by tubes, swabs in trays and in the ashcan put by me , a cigarette **** burns away.

0

Jan 25, 2015

Jan 25, 2015 at 11:58 AM UTC

john-edward-smallshaw

Lament

I lay impotently upon the bed, my innocence drip fed by tubes, swabs in trays and in the ashcan put by me , a cigarette **** burns away.

7

First as love, then as hate. Burning coal in my hands, I understand. First as a river flowing, then as a dawn mist glowing. I Cannot but think of you, our souls, like lost little clones, swimming in a pond, With dreams to fly, I am learning that I've pride. First as a cold winter day, I love the gift of light. I understand that you hate the mode, of fright. It is easy to float, like bubbles of wine in my throat. I am not trending as a goat, And you are loved, Therefore we are dreaming to fly, I am learning that I've gorged with delight. O! Happy days, Happy Happy days. There was an age of suns and glory, And heroic similes. Fortunes favor the brave, I have been dancing, over the grave, the gravest of thoughts, As an ashcan, Like a patient on a table, etherized. First as love, then as hate. Burning coal in my hands, I understand.

0

Nov 16, 2018

Nov 16, 2018 at 1:33 AM UTC

Angshuman_Chakravarty

Glow Worms.

First as love, then as hate. Burning coal in my hands, I understand. First as a river flowing, then as a dawn mist glowing. I Cannot but think of you, our souls, like lost little clones, swimming in a pond, With dreams to fly, I am learning that I've pride. First as a cold winter day, I love the gift of light. I understand that you hate the mode, of fright. It is easy to float, like bubbles of wine in my throat. I am not trending as a goat, And you are loved, Therefore we are dreaming to fly, I am learning that I've gorged with delight. O! Happy days, Happy Happy days. There was an age of suns and glory, And heroic similes. Fortunes favor the brave, I have been dancing, over the grave, the gravest of thoughts, As an ashcan, Like a patient on a table, etherized. First as love, then as hate. Burning coal in my hands, I understand.

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