Saturday, February 23, 2008

FOUR POINT FIVE

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 good....lol. Reading helps me reflect. Thank you.

 

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