“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label trauma. Show all posts
Showing posts with label trauma. Show all posts
Thursday, May 21, 2020
My Valentine
Tortuously,
I keep looking for something
that isn't there
right now, at least-
I feel strongly
compulsive. I still seek signs
first thing in the morning
like that one unforgettable
affair
uncovered by footprint,
a betrayal disguised
as an innocent amble
an estrangement you
desired irrisitably
and unregrettably.
Now that I have seen
deleted texts sent and received
more than dirty fingerprints,
this is DNA,
a wound
Spring inside the rib cage
re-tearing old wounds
the clicking like rage
in my ear
and I see how naturally
this discovery
reveals a new PTSD
in me-
a bomb exploded
my heart imploded
screams held back
my blood ran out
but I stayed, trembling at times
to face the enemy
closest-
when he
finally turns around
and notices me-
clutching a lit grenade
with the same gripping fear
that has kept me here
holding on
for too long.
Painting by John Collier (1850-1934), ;The fallen idol; c. 1913 in Public domain.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Tres (trace)
Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
This world is not for breath for feelings also come and go. As hard and light as Push and pull Go. Busy hands and bees-electricity, alter...
-
Today seems like a good day to burn a bridge or two. The sky resembles a backlit canopy with holes punched in it. In California...