Saturday, February 23, 2008


Floating hand creep, dirty hands

Locked doors stifles the egress
Vicissitude follows infantile erections
Rest without sound- movement stilled
Deep breath.

Eyes of innocents cleaved
Ripped from youthful sockets
Dripping down- chin to chest
Taste it.

Pressed against untouched skin
Lips and hands maw and sway
Prevailing then- awake me now
It hurts.

Fostered screams silenced by blindfolds
The spider's breath dances down my back
Cool patted stones- we used to skip
No light.

Shove this behind shielding stockade.
As it is shoves in and through
Silent childhood doldrums- help evades
No sound.

He is so strong
He is still too strong
And my bulwark- blankets the ground
I cry.

Floating hands creep, dirty hands.

1 Babble-Backs:

Ty said...

Your poetry is very nice, descriptive. My poetry is very raw. I am not 100% sure what this is about, but it feels scary and bad through a childs soul. "ripped from sockets" "maw and sway" "Silent childhood doldrums- help evades. No sound."
Am I way off? I am no literary. Hope to see another down the line.

It was nice of you to leave me comments. Writing makes me slighty less crazy, which is Reading helps me reflect. Thank you.


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