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For Whom the Bell Does Not Toll
Contributed by
invierno
on
Saturday, 26th April 2014 @ 12:25:42 PM in AEST
Topic:
StoryPoetry
|
I am a brick.
I came from a brick.
Terracotta even, edges clean-
Unblemished prime geometry.
Not for long.
Not for any price.
Losing colour vibrant, true-
My bearing brick, I see, now so far from new.
How do I fit?
In the wall, and quick!
This earth is diminishing me-
I'm wearing down- it's happening! All the world will see.
No easy trick, to be a brick.
I was made.
So Shall I make.
My turn at the stick-
As I was, so I made, a perfect little brick.
Elements are beating me.
Cracks like porcelain erupt.
My begatting brick is ragged now-
Janus mocking me, and how.
My creation? Pride.
Still fundamental-elemental,
Yet fading perfect form of yore-
Brick so hard, and so I tried; delving, always more.
No easy trick, to be a brick.
I was the house.
I am the house.
Now my progeny his own-
Wind and rain; aught to gain, our houses are alone.
Sound waves crash.
Sound waves beat.
The bell's toll is erasing me-
The brick I made has turned away, too late now do I see.
He has his house.
He is his house.
Bell's toll sweet his bricky ears-
It now tolls for him not for me, as I heft my makers fears.
No easy trick, to be a brick.
Copyright ©
invierno
... [
2014-04-26 12:25:42]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: For Whom the Bell Does Not Toll
(User Rating: 1 )
by softerware on
Saturday, 26th April 2014 @ 02:39:00 PM AEST
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a Message)
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Invierno..I suspect a bit of Dr. Suess has influenced this as well! Nicely structured, fun to re-read; like going back and forth in a swing!
No easy trick to be a poet!
Delightful!
softerware |
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Re: For Whom the Bell Does Not Toll
(User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on
Sunday, 27th April 2014 @ 12:41:36 AM AEST
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solid piece, or quite stationary it is to be,
Thick as a Brick, as though the wise men don't know what it means to be.
I applaud your use of pride, to see what it is worth such a work could not ever be
fake. But if you could bake a fake and make a brick in the end, that would truly be no easy trick my friend.
I see very fine houses all the time
But I wonder what they might mean. I see old torn shelters and understand only the inhabitants from which
I myself came.
This feels more of Frost than Hemingway -
it holds virtue out to me.
Great job!
Peace! |
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