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Winter
Sparrowsong like raindrops,
a starling's chirp repeats like
the drip of water off a roof-
weaving a beat into my thoughts.
It's spring outside this rolled-down window-
a rare soft breeze carries
memories of lilacs.
But inside this pick-up, winter holds fast-
my eyes can't see the new green leaves.
Only dark hair thinning, hazel eyes
rimmed with frost, cold and unforgiving-
punishing me for a mistake made
long before I knew he breathed.
But it is not given to us to change the past,
and this hole I've dug myself into
is grave-deep and caving in-
my shovel is broken, the only tool I have left
is faith that I will find a way out.
Tell me-
what is the half-life of hope?
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Comment by: - 2007-09-22 14:12
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| I read this through several times, and it is pretty smooth. But there is such a story in it I think you might consider the short-story format. It stands on its own as a poem, and is well put together. I didn't think the last two lines added that much. Good words, but not for this piece. Just wondered if you have thought about a different presentation. Anyway, good work. |
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| Hehe - I never noticed the layout until you mentioned it! That last line, though, was nearly the whole point of the piece. It simply popped into my head one day while I was doing dishes - a little gift from the poetry gods, I guess. I tend to work more with emotions than images, so this is a rare one for me... but perhaps loved more because of that. |
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Comment by: Arley - 2007-08-29 06:21
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Good one - like the 4-3-2 layout! Especially like:
But inside this pick-up, winter holds fast-
my eyes can't see the new green leaves.
Tell me-
what is the half-life of hope? |
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| Thank you so much... although I just noticed that the actual last line somehow didn't make it into my upload! I fixed it, though I'm wondering now if I should just leave it off. :D |
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| Thanks for the comment on my poem! I enjoyed reading this one. Great ending. |
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