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THE SECOND STATE
She wakes from dreams of flight and magnitude
Into a shattered state, and can't relate.
How does she feel, to have these bones unearthed
Exposed, how does she feel, to grow to this
Disjointed sense of self, and something lost?
She wakes into an ordinary day, hears voices
And they speak of her, they call to her, and cruel
Because she can't return
The line was drawn between these states of her
She walks into this ordinary day
And how to seek it out now, how to say she needed
And she couldn't ask
There is nothing in her safe from this
But she protects it still
And looks into a mirror
Traces lines that shouldn't be
They ask her what is wrong with her
And she can't answer
Takes her ordinary day
And turns her gifts to money, pays the rent
And bills and buying shelter for her self she hides
Until the need to wander out
Can overcome.
She cannot see the point
But they will point it out to her
And everything seems right
But her and she can't seem to fit
Spends time with outcasts
Strangers with an older code
And they relate
To ghosts
And in this time with outcasts as they speak to her
And remind her that she has a chance
To use the expectations of her
To advantage, this is rare
In this ordinary world she was reborn in
She has a piece of past and unforgiven
Caught behind her eyes and she can watch it
Anytime, seeks solace from the days and nights of
Memory of flight and falling
And shoulder shifting,
She feels the phantom pain of
Wings removed at birth.
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not even close to being dreck.
love those last three lines. amputee metaphors rock!
take care
---jones
(HURRAY FOR MY 666th POST! GOD BLESS SATAN, AND ALL HIS EVIL WORKS!)
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"teen-age fan club"
new chapters in Works & Days
a punk rock romance in words, music & art http://www.freehomepages.com/worksanddays
[This message has been edited by jones (edited April 14, 2000).]
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*pokes head out from under futon*
You mean you really like it? Thank you.
*pulls head back under futon, reaches for coffee, pulls that under as well*
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Wow. Awesome one esoteric. I like it a lot.
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Branflakes, the ninja lesbian hair gel and milk getter.
The one Necro calls "brain".
Call me what you want, just don't call me Blue Falcon or Branni.
Until the time you come back to me like fate.
"See that star...the one shining brighter than all the others? I know the girl who hung it there."
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*kneels down in front of the futon and lifts the blanket up to peer in*
Bravo. I like it a lot. Very good imagery, and not heavy-handed.
*slips a plate of oreos under the futon*
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Thank you Dano. I like oreos.
Let me know if you guys want to read anymore. Be warned, though, if you read too many of them, you may want to keep away from sharp objects for awhile. Dangers of writing about depression, and all that...
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That was good. I would have to say the best part was the first paragraph tho. I really like that. The rest was more narrative and I don't like narritive poetry. That's just my own personal taste, not nessisarily a criticism.
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Eso, the poem speak a matter of factly about the loneliness in such a style that speaks of volume and clarity. At first, it reads like "Dog" by Lawrence Ferlinghetti then it got away from there, which is good. You got your own style and I like it. (I'm a fighter of free form in poetry works.) When i read it, I didn't know what to think of at first, then I realized it sounds so close to my life these days that I might've been the one that wrote it. But I'd rather someone else write about my pathetic loneliness...
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There's loneliness in the radios...
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Well, obviously, I'm not writing about my own pathetic loneliness, right dwim. I'm very flattered, actually. It makes a poem complete to me to have somebody read it, then ask me "How did you know I felt that way."
It means I've been able to communicate, and THAT is the most important part of what I'm doing with this stuff...
