Thursday, May 17, 2012

Chance

Transparency is ambrosial 
when it is given along the string
tied
from your heart
to another. 

Clarity is morning rain,
lingers on grass,
a droplet for every soul
that dares dance unclad. 

There happens then
a lightening of each living trouble.
These or those weighing down a closed heart
lay no burden
on the shoulders of clarion beasties. 

Yet we fear it, 
for crystal breaks
as a raindrop turned to ice.   
Crack, it may. 
Shatter, it can. 
Yet the smell of a buried self reeks,
necrotic beneath the mold of neverever.

Never to show. 
Never to give. 
Never to share underling fancies
in a gentle palm
outstretched
to share with you. 

Quiescence lives
in the seeing and showing
In the times,
and on the roads,
when fear sneaks a toehold.

Stop. 
Yield an echo
before the one who holds your key.  
Abandon your fortress.
Swallow a pint
of sweet cinnamon pretense.
Let them pass
Let them see.  
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3 : an instance of trouble <used to disguise her frustrations and despair by making light of her troubles

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5 comments:

  1. This is really good... It goes from necrotic reeking to sweet cinnamon, dancing lightly back and forth to make an important point. Nice!

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  2. Absolutely perfect, as usual. I love that last stanza. Great response to the prompt.

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  3. I love the idea that in the first part of the poem, hiding your true self causes rot, but at the end, you (not you personally - the reader or persona) can hide that rotten smell with sweet cinnamon pretense.

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  4. So aptly describes the dance we do within ourselves with our authentic self and the mask we usually wear. Thought provoking...

    Stopped by from Studio30 Plus Weekend Spotlight.

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  5. After reading this a couple of times, I now want to hear Peter Murphy sing it. There is music in your words.

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