I am the name you never said,
The one who slips from bed to bed,
The favoured book you never read,
A constant doubt within your head.
I am the cross upon your door,
The creeping root beneath the floor,
The tortured dress you never wore,
An icy vein that will not thaw.
I am the word you never spoke,
The mirror’s face behind its smoke,
The frozen time behind night’s cloak,
A laugh too late to catch the joke.
I am the time you never planned,
The days that slipped out of your hand,
The rusted icon on the stand,
An effigy on broken land.
I am the cry at dead of night,
The splintered dream lost in mid-flight,
The falling bird that knows its plight,
A final line you could not write.
I am the bridge you could not cross,
The path below grown old with moss,
The…
View original post 89 more words
incarceratedshadows said:
An excellent poem.
Well done Sir.
chrisnelson61 said:
Thank you, much appreciated!
Anita Lubesh said:
I love this, though I left rhyme and metre behind . Your consistent 8 count beat was thrilling, almost Poe like, together with the subject. Lovely.
chrisnelson61 said:
Thank you – and your comparison is a compliment I will willingly take. Sometimes I feel that certain pieces cry out for a rhythm, especially if it contrasts with the theme.
Anita Lubesh said:
You’re welcome. I agree.
Brandewulf said:
Still so effing brilliant!
chrisnelson61 said:
Ha, ha – thank you. Glad you approve!
sriharshinee said:
Beautiful ❤
chrisnelson61 said:
Thank you so much.
Barbara Grace Lake said:
Wow! Just wow! Marvelous imagery.
chrisnelson61 said:
Thank you, Barara, I appreciate your thoughts.