Friday, August 19, 2011

The Glass Messenger (A poem)

Your words drop heavily to the floor,
without hope of recovery
Sealing the coffin on my dying will
And silencing the remaining light in my eyes

Drunk on the vibration of your voice,
I slip quietly into panic
Seeing through you, around you
Without you, before and after you

There is no reflection,
yet the sharpness cuts and brings forth blood
red, coming fast, draining from my face
Covering your words thickly
cloaking them, protecting them
Forcing them into the crevices of the wooden floor
Adding character to the room
Stealing character- mine, yours, ours

Shattering the broken harmony,
You too fall to pieces,
mixing into the split red, the words
spinning apologies into liars webs
catching flies and dead dreams
and forgotten memories and finished futures

Mixing them, breaking their boundaries
adding a pinch of salt
To the wound
For good measure, for the good of us all

(J. Smith, copyright 2011)