How do I feel today?
Do I feel at all?
What's the point off feeling anything,
anyway?
So I can be sad like you?
Be mad like you?
So I can be fed-up like you?
So I can be everything you are?
So I can be you?
A rock came through my window today.
It was painted with the word hope,
shattering like the window it christened,
leaving me in the corner, a shivering toddler,
leaving me with an empty hand and a
broken mirror. My window piecing
below my feet, piercing each step
with the vision of broken eyes
a bloody path to my front door
which is locked from the outside.
Comments
dearest Scott
If this is fiction or real I do sympathize.
This is well written indeed.
No suggestions. The last stanza could stand by itself.
Dearest Rula
Thank you for the kind words
I especially
Like the metaphor throughout, if I understand the rock's thing right. Otherwise I think i misread it.
How did you read it?
How did you read it?
it could be
a representative of a heavy burden or so that caused you such a pain. Otherwis, it must have be used literary, as a rock.
Dearest Rula
It's figurative, how supposedly indestructible, yet shattering like glass
oh wow, Scott, this is something else!
I do not understand why that last line is so powerful. It lifts the whole poem to the sublime. Nothing so mundane as a "locked room" murder mystery, although that can't be ignored, especially with the hopeful rock threat.
This is a poem that defies my analysis but I love it.
Jess
Mighty fine compliment, sir. Thank you