|
Menu
|
|
|
Social
|
|
|
|
remember
Contributed by
simonwrite
on
Wednesday, 16th February 2011 @ 06:41:46 PM in AEST
Topic:
goodbyepoetry
|
I wrapped rosary beads around a handful of forget-me-nots
A bruised bouqet
So next time I visit your grave I’ll remember to pray
Lately whenever you come to mind
I tense up and try to astrally project images of clenched fists towards heaven
Was god the woman who cut you off
Was is the slow turn
Was it the guard rail that didn’t exist
Or was it the river they dredged a 2 ton 4 ounce metal stillborn out of
Once your dead heart was on dry land
They cut the cable umbilical
Sometimes I wish that knotted roots
Shaped like your fingers
Held your cold casket as firm as you held pencils
When you used to draw for a living
That way when people asked
I could just say you were a river
Instead we trapped you in brass
You exist uselessly as handfuls of powder
Somewhere in that cluttered home office
Next to the bottle of jameson I stole
The night you didn’t come home
And those books about god
God
God sees what god sees
And god does what god does
God’s gone and given
And god’s here to listen
Gods given some great gifts
But what god’s got going has got some gaping holes
And I don’t give a god damn if god agrees
But god’s gotten way out of hand
I spread grins with lips skewered with hooks
And spout tears like leaking oil lines
No one knows that my cheeks are red from how hard I press my tongue against them
When I hear that god has a plan
And I’m too small to see it
Forget that
The cells in my lungs don’t fall in love with one another
And then wander aimlessly like ghosts
When one dies die
They know no mourning
My blood is not facebook friends with my skin
And didn’t cry when my teeth fell out
If the building block of life could think
My body would be an aetheist compound
I don’t think I can hear your voice like it really was anymore
replaying our talks
Your throat’s full of bees
Word ooze thick like honey down lips
Ultimately drowned by the humming hive
Your face must’ve been wax
How else can I explain it melting out of my memories
Most days I manage
But there are mornings
When blank face spouting white noise
And fleeting glimpses of bike rides on sunny sundays
Isn’t enough to get me out of bed
Craving that man to man we never got around to
Turned into a clawing on my 18th birthday
It’s a miracle I haven’t folded back in half and spewed
Steaming confetti fort from this hollow sternum
I know I never could
That doesn’t do you justice
i didn’t write this to yell at you
you’re dead so what would be the point in that
I did this, to start forgiving you
Or god
Or the both of you
Or myself
Or to try and grasp the possibility
That we’re all the same thing
You, me, god
It’s taken five years
2 trips to wilderness
2 rehabs
a depleted college fund
2 states
2 countries
a lot of tough questions
and tougher answers
for me to write this
I love you dad
And I miss you
I kept that stupid drawing you gave me
it’s hanging on my wall across from my bed
most mornings it’s the first thing I see when I wake up
gets me moving on the days that motion seems impossible
feel free to come visit once in a while
Copyright ©
simonwrite
... [
2011-02-16 18:41:46] (Date/Time posted on
site)
Advertisments:
|
|
|
|
|
Sorry, comments are no longer allowed for anonymous, please register for a free membership to access this feature and more
|
|
All comments are owned by the poster. Your Poetry
Dot Com is not responsible for the content of any
comment. That said, if you find an offensive comment, please
contact via the FeedBack Form with details, including poem title
etc.
|
|
|
Re: remember
(User Rating: 1 ) by Former_Member on
Wednesday, 16th February 2011 @ 07:00:49 PM AEST (User
Info | Send
a Message)
|
Long poem but very good. |
|
|
Re: remember
(User Rating: 1 ) by Former_Member on
Friday, 18th February 2011 @ 12:19:21 AM AEST (User
Info | Send
a Message)
|
Even though this is quite sad (sometimes hard for me to handle) this is some great writing.
I especially like this:
Lately whenever you come to mind
I tense up and try to astrally project images of clenched fists towards heaven
Tim
(who sometimes wonders if they do come to visit)
|
|
|
|