I sit here and read your words,
strewn across these crisp white pages
and I think about how you used them for kindling.
Your shy-awkward smile makes me wonder what thoughts circled
in your head as the photographer pressed, index finger down,
stealing your soul, trapping you in a moment I can buy.
The last pages filled with raw potential,
a life of boundless talent, a beautiful mind,
but sorrow that flowed through veins like Formaldehyde.
The weight it must take to force one’s heart to move,
cutting all ties, breathing in death’s fumes,
the cries of children fading away as eyelids closed.
And as I think of brilliance slighted, works of art
unfinished and burned, I suddenly catch a glimpse of you.
It was life, and the brain’s chaotic swirl. The panic, the heaviness. Life.
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3 comments:
I liked your poem Melia (snap snap). Wonderful job. (snappity snap snap) Luge, Baby girl!
Great poem, sweety... We'll dicuss it over espresso at a smoky cafe on the Champs Elysie in September when the weather turns cool and the leaves start to change... Okay, that sounds good...let's run away.
Love ya, Keren
(go to my blog on MySpace @ http://www.myspace.com/keren1258 )
Nice.. I like it.
oh much better rundown of the boring week on my blog now.
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