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 Page: Profile: Poetry   Total Views: 10,208,726  

Poem Specs

VxPoem ID: 26073


Posted: December 19th. 2006 11:44:22 AM

Views: 816

Reflection in the Doorknob

by Widdershins

Age Group: Adult

*The black clouds*
I’d wear black to grieve
the despair would draw my gaze down
to what no pardon can be given
far beyond being driven
the tempting silence of drifting keys
the soft wind loftily breaking through the leaves
and the twist edges itself deepening into my skin
a thorn in my side, such a cruel thing
and the pain of truth simmers
but the hot anger of lies still glimmer…
no forgiveness can ever be bourn, in these veins
to keep the wrestling heart of love beating on
or merely ease its incredible strain
and no wail can ever express
as the divine comfort suggests…
nothing at all can explain
any reasoning to stop this pain.

*Honey tears of so many years*
Twisting leaves remind me of images of what was
a festival of centuries ago mingling with that sun
the longest journeys spent staring
out of the window, ignoring as the glaring
beams of the sun catch
in each tiny detail, every wind-swept scratch
the nomad of the road, just a child
watching hungrily the city at night, so wild!
those lights in the distance, going forever away…
the glimmers, like everything else, fades…
like the sweet sound of the majestic night
where within the blue rhythms cast their dim light
filled with mysterious glowing embers that are eyes
or brief flickers of emotion unseen in the daylight
soft and relaxed laughter, heart beating slow
its just the regular today, watching the snow…

*Doorknob logic*
Sometimes boredom forces my mind out of its constraints
and I interrogate doorknobs to absolutely no gain
telling sad stories to the folding, holding walls
keeping the warmth inside, though there’s no warmth at all
each design and pattern I can weave with a hand
serenely repeating each little strand
until I know the whole design by heart
though I’ll never understand its true meaning
perhaps the answer lies in me away from sight, still sleeping
waiting for the moment when the rain stops its tirade
when the tireless clouds stop trying to invade
and leave the gray people who’ve lost heart to weep
themselves silently to sleep…

*Mind weave*
The twisting leaves remind me of the things
that stand tall in the past, painting lush imagery
though confessing to no real symmetry in its coarse fabric
but at least, I say, my past isn’t plastic
nor as placid as my mask suggests
there still are things back there not lain to rest
perhaps I may stare at them forever, uncomprehending
of what about them speaks my undoing as they are standing
rendering me speechless with two of the same kind
respect and infallible wonder of my mind…
the calmness seems to settle again
leaving alone the restless strain
and the courting flies dance too loudly behind
forcing me to turn and swat their feeding vine
I could just go on and on, my thoughts never end at all
but what do you know of me? other than my songs’ fall…
what do you know of the time in which I exist
filled with pains, desires and temptations that are hard to resist,
and full of the beauty that sorrow expands
while I try to meet all the crowding demands,
no… never was the dust speck I am understood
good enough to sweep under a rug like all dust should…

*Disappointing work*
Each night I wake up in my world and start my work
trying to find the flaws and correct their not needed smirk
the wanted personality feeling such savagery
at being treated so rudely, carelessly…
not at all surprisingly, that part of me admits sullenly…
though it’s a hard blow to the soft skin of my ethereal body
at the same time the repulsiveness of what I saw
the honesty, welcomed though it be, didn’t appeal to me at all…
this is not what I had seen…
not what I wanted…
not what I was promised…
nothing is the same…
nothing is in its rightful place…
this is merely the ruin of a very dear dream
the sad ending of the one unreachable
the one lesson that was not teachable
until the point where the hard way was forced down my throat
sinking into my aching stomach with its eternal gloat,
but I’m alive, aren’t I…
and as always, this girl survives…
though I know not how, it has to be
there are too many things to taste, touch, smell, see…
too many experiences lined up, and all this I realize
while interrogating a doorknob devoid of reply
my compromise was that endless loop in my head
forever shifting, running on and on and on… till I’m dead
that’s the way it works, forever
my thoughts be my iron tether, when
I would so gladly fly free…
but that is not the point
of being me…

*Only half saw it*
Reigning in the sky is the dying wind, once so loud
trying to shiver the shimmering path for cloud after cloud
but eternally failing to keep everything stagnant
or hiding the Lady in the moon who seems pregnant
again, and with the birth of a waning moon
she’ll hide away again, fairly soon…
but unlike her rhythmic tides
all I can do is bide my time
deep in the dream, searching it like an attic
filled with too much noise and static,
only clearing now… and my ears are hit with words
some seem silly, hurtful, absurd…
there’s no need to spare me of this, I find…
it was a pointless foresight, an insult to my strength in kind,
but it’s alright… expected the same…
it’s just that there used to be some beauty to this game,
and now that the house is abandoned, standing alone
gates wide open in desertion, and without even removing a stone
the wraith of my projection wafts through the shattered glass
and looks around to see what can be salvaged from this mess,
and finds many treasures, gifts of strength and a great heart
all left there for the taking, seems only half saw all of this part
and the gifts, unwrapped, lay strewn in neglect
but never was I one to fall for objects, yes
here they are, all I’ve given, safely left behind
they’re just waiting to get out of me and find the right mind…

*The white clouds*
The sun has never shone brighter in these eyes
than after they have been cleansed with tears and fiery knives
cutting and washing away all the shards still there
that haven’t left after they took their share
of my sight… and all I see
is that I’m blind tonight… can it be
that one day soon I’ll travel out of the dungeon
in search of the seamstress heart surgeon
or you know, even better yet than that notion
I’ve found him already, just waiting for his healing potion
now that sounds like the white cloud I want
just hope it doesn’t drift away with an eerie taunt…

December 19, 2006

Author's Notes: Well... life.

Author's Location: Szeged, Hungary
More Poems: Widdershins has posted 234 additional poems- View them?
Author's Profile: To learn more about Widdershins - Click HERE
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