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Abandon
Boxes and boxes
collect
in the cloister
of a vast
white walled
empty basilica
that choirs
caustic memories
of you
impossible to mute
with packed cardboard.
Worse'¦
it now impedes
my path
as I alone
witness
bits of sun
break dark clouds
and pierce
through the
stained
rose window
only to be upstaged
by the rain
drops
splish, splosh
showering seconds
minutes to hours
of misery spent
in this
my church
(a room
we used to call
ours.)
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sad but beautiful in a simple way. sometime less is deffinatly more, i know the feeling of sadness in boxes and being left alone. i love this: minutes to hours
of misery spent
in this
my church
(a room
we used to call
ours.)
it is so true |
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| You've described departure and loss very well, Ethgar |
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| I felt this one, it really touched me with the imagery. Great job |
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in this
my church
(a room
we used to call
ours.)
These lines were my favourite. When we forge a sanctuary with another, in which we can be ourselves as individuals and be part of the couple, sanctuary can so quickly turn to a prison or a tomb of broken dreams and bittersweet memories when one half of the couple departs and another lingers. Or even a home when a family divides and some leave etc.
And you are right also, in stating how even though we may pack physical/material memorabilia away, it's as if the memories and "spirit" within these things can permeate the cardboard packaging; as if our awareness of them being there is undeniable.
A very good poem.
Stuart |
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Comment by: fredav - 2007-02-21 10:41
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very interesting write, ethgar. i saw many interpretations to this poem, which i like. one wherein the church you're referring to could be symbolic of your own heart.. the following were the best lines, for me, anyway:
as I alone
witness
bits of sun
break dark clouds
and pierce
through the
stained
rose window
only to be upstaged
by the rain
drops
Have you ever thought of separating "Worse..." from the second stanza? Might add to the effect.. Just a suggestion.
Thanks for the read.
Freda |
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