Complaints
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| Image from Worth1000.com |
COMPLAINTS
Long, drawn-out sighs
loop our lives together.
Moments of despair,
thoughts of tired anguish,
indifference,
condensing the air between us.
It is in the shadows of a darkened room
that I find the differences
between who you believe yourself to be
and who I know I am.
You are the quill pen, green and gray ink,
who scratches out harsh thoughts
between your thighs and across my back.
Your nib places your words
into flesh and composing sweat.
I smudge single syllables
in the language of loins
and sobbing mouths
across my face for all to see,
using fingertips
and my own blood.
It is only those repeated moments -
those fleeting seconds -
that our far flung sentences find each other.
We become the same writer
with different diction,
writing poetry on a snowbank,
waiting for Spring.
-----
Shared with no complaints over at DVerse Poets Pub.
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Christopher, that doesn't say anything good about the writer's life. And we still do it? For free? Oy!
ReplyDeleteThat is a powerful muse. I love that last stanza.
ReplyDeleteThese lines resonate with me, Christopher:
ReplyDelete‘It is only those repeated moments -
those fleeting seconds -
that our far flung sentences find each other’
and
‘We become the same writer
with different diction,
writing poetry on a snowbank,
waiting for Spring.’
Chris, this poem is deeply evocative! The imagery and tension you create with the quill pen and ink is striking, and your final line really brings everything together. 🌨
ReplyDeleteMuch love,
David
SkepticsKaddish.com
This is such a strong poem, those syllables I feel bleeding.
ReplyDeletei know this "dance." beautiful imagery. sad, yet vulnerable.-- telling. loved it.
ReplyDelete