Claire (cryintherain) wrote,

a few poems...

I was just looking back over my documents on the computer, found a few poems i'd actually forgotten i had written. It's when you look back that you can see that perhaps they weren't as bad as you originally thought. Opinions would be much appreciated. Are they all too similar? I fear i need a new vocabulary!

In my imagination
you would sculpt perfection
skin these lines with invisible ink
blotting soft tissue and filth to dust
particles evaporated into light air
a touch of magic, delicate fingers;
smoothing life to dusk.

By a mirrors harsh reflection
i would stand, like a soilder in command
A cut rose without thorns, fragile beauty.
& you, the hero to my sufferance
A knight, in shining armour,
rescuing the princess from her tower
a million white horses galloping into the night.

But now i am broken,
a shattered child, burnt to the soul
by the fire of your destruction
You are frakenstein and I, your monster
hideously inflicted with greed, regret
slashed to the bone, and bleeding
The glass slipper just couldn't fit,
to the foot of my enemy.

Shadows (mind the lack of grammar/punctuation in this one, i guess i couldn't be bothered!)
grey is looming
around me
a cloud of smoke,
those darkened figures
subtly edging beside me
like old friends from the past
isolated, undressed,
screams bouncing off the walls

My masked saviour,
clasping a cold, limp hand,
warm palms holding frail fingers,
a darkened purple
an echo of relief bubbles
as we walk
where do i start?
and where do the shadows begin?

dirty, dusty, dark alleyways
an eerie sense of innocence lost
burnt out cigarettes, and discarded lager cans
screwed to the tin, a scrape of metal as they run across the ground
and i am safe
beneath the comfort of misery, needles drawing my blood
connecting my veins to a purpose.

& i am bruised
from head to toe,
companioned with my sufferance
an exorcism of hope or faith
a picture of spilled blood
marking the spot.
You give me air,
stale oxygen in my lungs,
whispers rising,
the danger of a kiss of death.

loose curls flattened by the frost
resuscitation, to semi-consciousness
graves left from before

Clouds (ditto on the absence in grammar)
take a step into my insides
sad tunes ring note by note
eyes burn dark black rings
into my back, a shattered spine
snapped in two
a tall wall against mayhem
fury scorched out, chilled cold
dead to the touch

blurred backgrounds
set to channel zero
as i fall in head first
vision set through snow
with kitten pawprints
seeing is not believing
when the image is only half there
washed sideways, with sanity

no windows, no bell
a brass lock, barring the door
chimey smoke reminds you
that i am still here
a black, dark, deep cloud
of looming presence
a knock, brings no answer
no sparkle or spirit to call
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