04 August 2010

Mirror, Cracked

My eyes rove the terrain
of you, my home country
discovered when the world was new
and we celebrated our founding

I cannot look at your hands
without feeling them on my skin,
a violin played by a master
pulling notes from the void

I breathe your scent
and think of orchids,
I hold your hands
knowing the souls of roots

That was then, this is now,
in the evening of our days,
I kiss your neck, the taste
of tricyclics in your sweat

And your eyes, blankness
on and off like a switch,
Ghosts in the mirror
pleading for your return.

11 comments:

  1. Wonderful ... moody .. touching .. sad.

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  2. So I hope you don't think I was being harsh...honestly, that possibly over the top comment was in fun. Chopped liver indeed!

    But on to the topic at hand. The yearning in these stanzas. Makes me feel it too.

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  3. interesting,i would never try to write such good prose.

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  4. The ending was a jolt. I've been thinking of such things lately. Beautiful, bittersweet piece.

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  5. damn, boy
    this is fine...

    tried to be a little more poetic with my response
    but, sometimes, you just gotta go with your gut :)

    you killed with this one, bro.

    Rene

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  6. Wow! Just. Wow!
    With August 15 not too far away, a poem like this, WOW!
    The sense of belonging you sometimes feel when you think of your country is so clear here. It's almost melancholic...

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  7. I'm always impressed, and I don't even like poetry.

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  8. Sad stuff filled with longing.

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"Let your laws come undone
Don't suffer your crimes
Let the love in your heart take control..."


-'The Hair Song', by Black Mountain

Tell me what is in your heart...