Post by rustybroadspear on Nov 12, 2011 5:32:59 GMT -5
His very soul sobbed in despair.
Gnarled hand clutched a broken locket dream.
Sadness leeched the sour stale air.
Daylight paled to an insipid cream.
Coiled and dead, strands of hair,
Beneath soiled glass, wretchedness extreme.
The only sound; a stumbling broken heartbeat.
Sour scent seeped from a crumbling wasted rose.
His mind walked a world; wrecked, incomplete,
A place of shadows, a place only he knows.
A clock chimed the hour so bittersweet,
A moment gone, a moment lived, a moment goes.
A door opens, a door shuts. He isn’t aware.
Someone in the hall. A visitor, for a chat?
Statuesque in his chair. Darkened room, darkened stare.
A woman slinks across the room like a polecat.
She’s young compared to him, with tightly curled blue hair.
This is not her home or her natural habitat.
The locket hair used to be blue – well; how-do-you-do!!!
She wore a grin that spoke of secrets never to be told,
Stood by the clock, hands on hips, posing so prim too.
She looked at his blankness, then at the locket. Both so old.
His hair danced in the breeze of her sigh, settling askew.
His eyes shifted to where she stood. Eyes vacant and cold.
His hands began to tremble. Memories of hands soft and petite.
A lifetime of highs and depths lower than anyone should know.
She moved to his side; whispered love for her son. Without heartbeat.
He breathed her silent words as they flew with nowhere to go.
The brittle rose briefly renewed, bloomed and a subtle scent secrete.
She faded away. He slept. Childhood dreams of long, long ago.
Locket fell to the floor. His head to the table. Violence he saw.
Mother couldn’t cope. She had no hope. He recoiled.
One morning the sun shone. She was gone. She was no more.
Sky boiled, midday heat, sounds of feet. Visitors. Free yet soiled.
Time to forgive, to live, outlive. Time to go explore.
He snatched the locket and ran. Life began for a child spoiled.
Gnarled hand clutched a broken locket dream.
Sadness leeched the sour stale air.
Daylight paled to an insipid cream.
Coiled and dead, strands of hair,
Beneath soiled glass, wretchedness extreme.
The only sound; a stumbling broken heartbeat.
Sour scent seeped from a crumbling wasted rose.
His mind walked a world; wrecked, incomplete,
A place of shadows, a place only he knows.
A clock chimed the hour so bittersweet,
A moment gone, a moment lived, a moment goes.
A door opens, a door shuts. He isn’t aware.
Someone in the hall. A visitor, for a chat?
Statuesque in his chair. Darkened room, darkened stare.
A woman slinks across the room like a polecat.
She’s young compared to him, with tightly curled blue hair.
This is not her home or her natural habitat.
The locket hair used to be blue – well; how-do-you-do!!!
She wore a grin that spoke of secrets never to be told,
Stood by the clock, hands on hips, posing so prim too.
She looked at his blankness, then at the locket. Both so old.
His hair danced in the breeze of her sigh, settling askew.
His eyes shifted to where she stood. Eyes vacant and cold.
His hands began to tremble. Memories of hands soft and petite.
A lifetime of highs and depths lower than anyone should know.
She moved to his side; whispered love for her son. Without heartbeat.
He breathed her silent words as they flew with nowhere to go.
The brittle rose briefly renewed, bloomed and a subtle scent secrete.
She faded away. He slept. Childhood dreams of long, long ago.
Locket fell to the floor. His head to the table. Violence he saw.
Mother couldn’t cope. She had no hope. He recoiled.
One morning the sun shone. She was gone. She was no more.
Sky boiled, midday heat, sounds of feet. Visitors. Free yet soiled.
Time to forgive, to live, outlive. Time to go explore.
He snatched the locket and ran. Life began for a child spoiled.